The Teen Knight
by Candra de Innocentia
Summary: TDK written as if it had taken place while the characters were still in high school. A murderous teen who calls himself the Joker is intent on letting all hell break loose. Can the mysterious adolescent known only as Batman stop him before it's too late?
1. Cafeteria Heist

A/N

Ahem—I do not own ANY characters, nearly ALL of the dialogue, and a GOOD NUMBER of the settings. NONE of the plot points are mine, DC comics ISN'T mine, and you're a slack-jawed MORON if you think it is!!!

Just thought I'd get that over with. Read on and review please!

--

_Nothing beats getting to school at the end of the day_, Dopey reflected as he and Happy lugged a ladder around the back of Thomas Wayne High School. _Dopey_, he thought, frowning behind his Halloween Shop clown mask. _It figures I get that name, out of all of them, and gaywad here gets to be _Happy_!_

The two teens, both dressed in dark clothes with clown masks adorning their faces, propped the ladder up against the dirty brick building and began to ascend.

--

A tall, wiry teen dressed in dark clothing leaned against a lamp post on a curb, watching the adults hurrying to work. He kept his head low, face hidden behind a curtain of greasy green-tinged hair. The hair only attracted a few strange stares from passersby, while the rest managed a quick glance before hastily looking away.

They chalked it up to him being a teenager, of course.

Suddenly a black SUV pulled up, jerking to a halt a couple of feet out into the intersection. As car horns were honked by angry adults, the waiting teen slipped on his Bozo clown mask and climbed into the back of the vehicle.

Inside the car were two other guys—both wearing clown masks.

"Three of a kind," Grumpy, the kid driving, muttered. "Let's do this."

Chuckles popped a few more pellets into his paintball gun and asked, "That's it? Three guys?"

"There's two on the roof. Every guy is an extra share. Five shares is plenty."

Chuckles shook his head. "Six shares. Don't forget the guy who planned the job."

Grumpy threateningly laid a hand on the paintball gun sitting in his lap and growled, "Yeah? He thinks he can sit it out and still take a slice then I get why they call him the Joker."

He recklessly swung around a corner and pulled the car into the student parking lot of Thomas Wayne High School.

--

"So why do they call him the Joker?" Happy asked as Dopey pried open an access panel on the roof of the school.

He replied, "I heard he wears make-up." _What a fag_, he almost added.

"Make-up?" Happy echoed, sounding as if the same exact thought had crossed his mind.

"Yeah, to scare people—you know, war paint."

--

Grumpy, Chuckles, and Bozo got out of the car and marched across the parking lot carrying their paintball guns. They busted through the cafeteria entrance and Grumpy fired a couple of pellets into the ceiling, catching the attention of all the freshmen who were in the middle of lunch.

He and Bozo rounded up the panicking freshmen, overturning tables and chairs and flinging trayfuls of food across the room as they shoved them into a group in the middle of the room.

Behind the serving counter, a lunch lady inconspicuously touched a button marked intercom beneath the register's perch.

--

On the roof, Dopey pulled a pair of scissors out of his backpack as a small green light blinked on in the mess of wires within the panel. "Here comes the intercom…" He snipped a bundle of wires and the light flickered off. "…and there it goes."

Behind him, Happy raised a silenced handgun and took aim between Dopey's shoulder blades.

"Is that all?" he asked.

Dopey dropped the scissors back into his bag and shouldered the pack. "Yeah, I'm done here."

Happy shot and Dopey slumped. The former hefted his own backpack and moved back over to the ladder, scrambled down it, and busted into the rear entrance of the school—which happened to be in the cafeteria kitchen.

He caught a glance of Grumpy circling the freshmen and heard him yell, "Obviously, we don't want you doing anything here other than beggin' for dear life!"

Happy's eyes rolled in his mask. _What a drama king. All we're doing is stealing the day's lunch cash—sheesh!_

He snuck past the lunch ladies who were watching the goings on in the cafeteria, and then he kicked open a door marked _Office_. Inside the dimly lit room were a desk, a few filing cabinets, and a big black safe.

Outside, the lunch ladies were realizing that the weapons the boys were toting would, at worst, only cause a bad bruise and an impossible stain if they fired—and the women were becoming pissed at the fact that they'd been tricked.

A large, threatening woman that was a living lunch lady stereotype snatched a pan out of the sud-filled sink and stormed out from behind the counter, chucking it at the head of the nearest clown-masked brat.

It struck its mark with a resounding bang and the snot-nosed little punk fell in a crumpled heap to the floor. She had distracted the other two clowns long enough for the freshmen to scatter and take cover beneath and behind tables.

She was planning on calling it self-defense.

"You jerks have any idea who you're stealing from!?" she yelled, waving a spatula. "You and your friends are dead!"

--

Inside the office, Happy was attempting to crack the safe movie-style—with a steady hand and a stethoscope. Once he'd heard the third nearly imperceptible click he smiled behind his mask and threw open the door.

His smile turned to a frown when he saw the second safe within the first, and this one had to be unlocked with a digital number pad. Happy let loose a typical annoyed-teenager groan.

--

Grumpy and Bozo cowered behind a toppled table as the lunch ladies continued to hurl pots and pans at them. Eventually, however, the onslaught faltered as the women ran out of ammo; and finally only the lady who had begun throwing things was left—a ladle in one hand and a leftover lunch tray in the other.

"Is she out?" Grumpy asked his accomplice, holding his paintball gun tightly.

Bozo took a chance and peered out over the top of their shelter, then ducked back down just in time to avoid having his face squashed in by the ladle. He looked over and nodded, and Grumpy jumped up with his gun at the ready.

The lunch lady threw her last lunch tray and the teen, taken off-guard, cried out and fell to the floor as his shoulder was clipped by the high-velocity projectile.

She looked frantically around herself for something—anything!—to throw at the remaining assailant, but Bozo was quicker. As soon as his companion was down, the greasy-haired kid leapt up and fired off a flurry of shots from his paintball gun. They all struck home and the lunch lady went down with a grunt, holding her stomach.

Grumpy, sprawled on the floor, pulled at the collar of his black hoodie and checked his shoulder, where the beginnings of a nasty bruise were beginning to show. With a growl he rolled to his feet and kicked a crouching freshman out of the way.

"Where did you learn to count!?" he demanded, rubbing at the sore spot.

The dark eyes in Bozo's mask stared him down, and with a disgusted noise Grumpy headed for the kitchen, waving lunch ladies out of the way with his gun.

--

Grumpy entered the office and paused as he saw Happy kneeling in front of the safe, barefoot, wearing his socks as gloves as he tried to crack the code.

"They wired this thing with one of those electric buzzers," he said, pressing in another combination, "like in those trick click-pens and junk. What kind of school _does_ that?"

Grumpy took off his backpack and slowly placed it on the desk behind Happy as he answered, "A desperate one. Guess the Joker's as crazy as they say, huh?"

Happy shrugged, then made a relieved noise as suddenly there was a click and the second safe door unlocked. Inside was a formidable pile of the week's lunch money.

Grumpy looked around as Happy stared at the cash. "Where's the tech guy, genius?"

"Boss told me when the guy was done I should take him out." He turned slightly to show the butt of the gun he'd stuck into his waistband. "One less share, right?"

"Funny…" Grumpy muttered as he pulled an identical silenced handgun out of the front pocket of his backpack. "…he told me something similar…"

Happy froze with his hand on the loot. In a flurry of movement he went for his own gun with a cry, "No, wait!" But Grumpy was faster, and a second student died that day.

Being careful not to step on the body, Grumpy moved over to the safe and tipped its contents into his backpack, being careful not to let a single penny fall to the floor. After he was done stuffing the bag he dragged it out of the office and back into the cafeteria, struggling under its weight.

Thomas Wayne High was severely overcrowded, and that meant a lot of students had to fork over their parents' money to eat.

He dumped the backpack at Bozo's feet and laughed, panting. "C'mon man, there's a lot to carry, and I'm tired."

Bozo hesitated, but then he stooped over and took the backpack by the straps. He managed to pull it up onto his back, staggered a little, and then took a laborious step toward the exit.

Grumpy suddenly took out his pistol and jabbed it at the back of Bozo's head. Bozo froze.

"I'm betting the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash," he growled.

Bozo turned slowly, putting up his hands in a harmless gesture, and took a step to the side. Grumpy followed him, keeping his back away from the clown. "No, no," Bozo said evenly, "I kill the _bus driver_." He took another step, and again Grumpy followed.

"Bus driver? What bus driver!?"

Bozo took a quick step backwards, out of the way of the school bus that came smashing through the wall with a deafening crash. The freshmen screamed at the top of their lungs as Grumpy was struck by the tail end of the vehicle and went sailing all the way back to the food counter. He struck it with a sick sound and then fell heavily to the floor with no life in him.

A chunky teen in a clown mask squeezed through the space between the wall rubble and the bus, and looked over at the clown he'd struck. "Wuh-oh," he said with a chuckle. "That guy ain't gettin' up, is he?"

Bozo responded by dumping the backpack at the bus driver's feet and trotting over to Grumpy, who was still holding his pistol…

"That's a lot of money," the chubby clown greedily remarked as he opened the back door of the bus and tossed the backpack in. He looked around himself and asked as Bozo came back across the cafeteria with his right hand behind his back, "Hey, what happened to the rest of the guys?"

Bozo lifted the pistol from behind his back and shot the driver. He carelessly tossed it away when he was done and hoisted himself into the back of the bus with a grunt.

The paint-splattered lunch lady watched him with murder in her eyes and said in a hoarse voice as she cradled her sore stomach, "Think you're so smart, huh? Well the little _punk_ who put you up to this's just gonna do the same to you."

Bozo sat and let his legs dangle out the back of the bus. He shook his head slowly.

"Sure he will," the lunch lady insisted. "Kids in this school used to believe in things…Honor! Respect! What do you believe in, huh? What do you believe in!?"

The Joker cocked his head thoughtfully and looked down at the woman as he removed his mask and answered, "I believe what doesn't kill you simply makes you…stranger."

The lunch lady's eyes went wide. She'd been working at this damn school in this dangerous city for coming on two decades now, and never before had she seen anything so horrendous. Sweaty white make-up coated the teen's face, except the area around his eyes. His eyes were ringed with smears of black, and his smirk was yellow outlined with red. The red spread up his cheeks in an impossibly wide grin—one that had been permanently carved into his face.

His mouth had been cut into a horrific smile that brought to mind any word but happiness.

"Later," the Joker said in farewell, getting up and slamming the back door behind him. He ran to the front of the front of the bus and started it up again as sirens were suddenly heard speeding toward the school. One or more of the freshmen had whipped out their cellphones and called the police.

Joker pulled the bus out of the wall and back into the parking lot. It was a school bus driving out of a high school parking lot—nothing for the police to be suspicious of. The cop cars rushed into the lot as the single empty bus trundled out.

Their cluelessness made the murderer driving it giggle.

--

A/N

Kids rule, dogs drool. TDK rewrite done got revamped!

You thought _your_ high school was scary? Try surviving at Gotham High School and then we'll talk.

Be sure to review and tell me what you think! Feel free to flame, because I'm doing this to win a bet—not because I like you.

Not that you're not a likeable person! I just mean…uh…oh, never mind!


	2. Drug Bust

From the roof of Gotham High burst forth a shaft of light that cut through the night and stained the clouds with a bat-shaped shadow. A teacher down in the faculty parking lot, climbing into his car after long hours of correcting tests, looked up at the bat-signal and smiled. Down the street from the school a husky kid dealing drugs into a car looked up and spotted the signal. He stepped away from his perspective buyer, shaking his head nervously.

"Nah, man," he said, withdrawing into an alley. "I don't like it tonight."

The senior's friends booed from inside the vehicle as the driver shouted after the dealer, "What're you, superstitious!? You got more chance of winning the school raffle than running into him!"

But he was already gone.

--

Within the teacher's lounge of Gotham High, two lingering educators watched the news on a small television set. A portly man with a ruddy face and white hair frowned at the screen as a Latina woman quietly operated the coffee-maker in the background.

Mike Engel was laying into the superintendent of the school system with ruthless efficiency. "Superintendent, you were elected on a campaign to clean up Gotham's schools…when are you going to start?"

"Well, Mike—"

Engel cut him off. "Like this so-called Batman—a lot of parents say he's doing some good, that criminals within the educational system are running scared…but I say _No_. What kind of 'hero' needs to wear a mask? You don't let vigilantes run around the _city_ breaking the law…why make allowances for the schools? Where does it end? Yet, we hear rumors that instead of trying to arrest him the school board is using him to do their dirty work."

The superintendent raised his hand in an appeasing manner and stated simply, "I'm told our teachers in Gotham High School are close to discovering the true identity of this _Batman_."

The Latina, Ramirez, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, smirked and teased the man beside her, "Hey, Wuertz—the superintendent says you're closing in on the Batman."

Wuertz looked up at her with listless, watery blue eyes and crumpled up a piece of paper. "The investigation," he said like the ex-cop he was, "is ongoing!"

He threw the paper at a bulletin board headed 'BATMAN: SUSPECTS'. The pictures lining it were of Abraham Lincoln, Elvis, and an out-of-focus photo of what appeared to be Bigfoot.

Ramirez smiled and exited the room with her coffees.

--

She came out onto the roof a couple of minutes later, where dean of students James "Jim" Gordon stood beside a massive searchlight. She moved over to him and handed him one of the mugs in her hand.

"Ever intending to see your wife again, dean?"

He did not look away from the signal in the clouds as he retorted, "I thought you had to go look after your mother, Ramirez."

She looked away and said sadly, "I checked her back into the hospital."

He finally looked at her. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged and tactfully changed the subject. Gazing up at the signal she asked, "Hasn't he shown?"

Gordon shook his head. "He often doesn't. But I like reminding everybody that he's out there."

"Why wouldn't he come?"

His mustache twitched as he smiled and his eyes shone behind his glasses. "Hopefully…because he's busy."

--

Two black SUV's prowled into the parking lot of one of Gotham City's few parks, and out of the first emerged a scruffy teenager with greasy black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Four beefy guys came out of the second; and one of them, spotting the bat-signal, nudged the teen Chechen's shoulder and pointed at it.

He looked up at it and shrugged. "That's why we bring dogs," he said in a thick Russian accent. The Chechen went around to the back of his SUV and threw open the back doors, revealing a trio of enormous growling rottweilers. He leaned over the dogs and kissed their giant black heads, crooning to them. "My little princes…yes, yes, my beautiful little princes…"

As he praised his pets the other thugs opened the back of their vehicle, reached in and pulled a skinny, wild-eyed junkie out by his hair. "No!" he was babbling. "No, get 'em off me! Off me! Please, help, get 'em off me!"

They dragged him towards a battered white van and threw him on the ground as the back doors opened. Inside the back of the van were two armed guys and a third skinnier one that hovered in the dark interior.

"Look!" the Chechen shouted angrily. "Look what your drugs did to my customer!"

"Buyer beware…" the skinny figure said. He stepped into the light to show that he was dressed in a dark suit and was wearing a burlap sack upon his head. Silvery eyes peered out from the ragged eyeholes, but nothing could be seen through the grimacing mouth. The Scarecrow went on in an even, civil tone, "I told you my compound would take you places! I never said they'd be places you wanted to go."

"My business is repeat customers!"

"If you don't like what I have to offer, you can buy from someone else…Assuming Batman left anyone else to buy from."

The Chechen frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but then his dogs began to bark wildly. "He's here," one of his thugs said nervously, looking all around.

Suddenly one of the thugs screamed and disappeared into the darkness. In his place straightened a pointy-eared shadow. The dog's barked louder.

The Chechen was not impressed. "Come on, sonofabitch! My dogs are _hungry_! Pity there's only _one_ of you!"

Another thug was pulled out of sight with a yelp and a second bat-shadow appeared in his place. Three more appeared, and the teens looked panicky. Even the dogs stopped their barking.

The first bat-shadow stepped into the light, carrying a shot gun. With an impossibly loud noise the weapon fired and a hole was blown into the SUV beside the Chechen. Chaos ensued as the kids scattered and the park erupted into gunfire. The Chechen whirled around as he heard another one of his thugs scream.

"Loose the dogs!" he shouted, and his remaining thug complied.

The snarling canines raced after their prey and tackled a bat-shadow, which let loose a terrible scream as it fell to the ground.

Scarecrow ducked behind his van as several holes punctured the side, but as he tried to climb into the driver's seat the muzzle of a shotgun met with the back of his head. He whirled around and thrust out his wrist, spraying the bat-shadow behind him with a hissing white gas that had the fat kid screaming in terror.

"Not the real thing," he remarked.

A huge black shape rocketed up the street and with a squealing of tires turned into the parking lot. It was a big black pickup truck with the bat-signal painted onto the hood, outlined in yellow as if it were cast by a searchlight. The windows—even the windshield—were tinted, and nothing could be seen of the driver beyond.

It was loosely known as the batmobile.

Scarecrow opened the driver's side door of his van and said viciously, "That's more like it!"

The remaining goons raised their weapons and opened fire on the windshield of the truck, hoping to shoot the bat they knew was driving it. But the glass was bullet-proof, it appeared, and the bullets caused only superficial damage.

Inside the batmobile, as the shooting hesitantly stopped, a remote-controlled rig came to life and pressed down hard on the gas pedal. The vehicle burst forward, scattering their ranks, then made a U-turn and sat quietly waiting across the parking lot.

A bat-shadow was lining up his shotgun with a running thug when suddenly a black gauntlet grasped the barrel and jerked the weapon away with irresistible force. The bat-shadow looked up with surprise on his pudgy face—it was the _real_ Batman!

Dressed in black from his boots to his armor, to the pointy-eared cowl hiding the upper half of his face, the Batman was a foreboding sight. His eyes were cold, hard jewels set into his mask, and with a sudden movement he slammed the butt of the gun into the fake bat's face.

After emptying the weapon of its ammunition Batman stormed across the lot, cape billowing out behind him, toward the copycat bat that was being mauled by the Chechen's dogs. Drawing a grappling gun from his belt, he shot the grapple into the fake bat's leg and ripped him away from the dogs; but one still hung on to the unconscious kid.

The Chechen, meanwhile, was beating a hasty retreat and was already over halfway across the park. The night swallowed him up.

Batman kicked the dog off the bleeding teen, who was wearing an improvised costume that barely resembled his own, but as he bent down to pull it away by its collar the beast turned and locked its jaws around his bicep—ripping, tearing, pain shooting up the limb.

Without making any noise other than a small grunt Batman swung the dog around and into the pole of the playground's monkey-bars, and with a yelp it released him and then ran off.

Batman rose, gritting his teeth against the pain in his left arm, and raised his head as the sound of an engine racing toward him reached his ears. He couldn't turn in time, however, and with a crashing sound of armor meeting metal he was slammed sideways as the white van clipped him.

Scarecrow, driving, nodded a greeting and farewell to the masked vigilante and hit the gas. He had to make a U-turn to escape the parking lot, and he was going around the far way as fast as he could…

The Batman forced himself to his feet, and seeing the van nearing him again, looked up at the monkey bars above him. After a moment he climbed to the top of the thing, precariously perched on the rows of handlebars. The van was getting closer.

As it passed, Batman jumped, and since the van was going full speed his body easily broke the windshield. The airbag exploded with a loud _WHUMP_ into Scarecrow's bagged face, and Batman took a second to give a sigh that no one saw.

He had stopped the van, but lost the Chechen. How bittersweet.

--

Batman had the Chechen's underage goons lined up against the teeter-totter, bound with zip-ties. He'd done the same with the fake batmen. The teen vigilante dumped Scarecrow next to the posers and ripped his burlap mask off.

Beneath the mask was an intelligent-looking—albeit, feminine-looking as well—young man who couldn't have been any more than sixteen, if that. His short brown hair was stuck to his pale face by sweat; and though he'd just been captured there was no anger in his eyes—only the knowledge that there would always be a next time.

He even gave the Batman a pearly little smile.

As the Batman turned, he pulled a remote-control out of his belt and maneuvered the batmobile over to where he stood.

"Don't let me find you out here again," he told the fake batmen in a clearly mechanically-distorted voice.

"We're trying to help you!" one of the fake bats yelled, his voice cracking.

Batman didn't turn to him. "I don't need help!"

"Not my diagnosis!" Scarecrow jeered at his back.

"What gives you the right, huh!?" the fake bat went on indignantly, struggling in his bonds. "What's the difference between you and me!?"

As the Batman climbed into his batmobile, before he shut the door, he replied, "I'm not wearing hockey pads."

The fake bat looked down at his costume with a sad frown on his face. Scarecrow rolled his eyes, made himself comfy, and waited to be picked up by the police.

There would always be a next time…

--

A/N

I don't like this chapter for three reasons:

One—there wasn't a lot I could work with to make this seem more teen-ish, so it's basically just me writing the original scene down.

Two—Batman jumped off of monkey bars. That's just stupid.

Three—Scarecrow's screen time ends here. He should get another little comeback in the next Batman movie…because there will _always_ be a next time.

Puh-LEEZE review!!


	3. Limits

Dean of students Jim Gordon shoved through the mob of shouting press and their flashing camera bulbs in front of Thomas Wayne High School. The police had crime scene tape encircling a gigantic hole that'd been busted into the cafeteria, as well as a black SUV in the front of the school.

After shutting off the bat-signal he'd gone inside and seen a Breaking Headline on the news Wuertz was watching. There'd been a break-in and several students involved, including one found on the roof, had been shot.

Forensic specialists worked the scene while, out of the light so as to hide from the press, a couple of cops spoke in hushed tones to one another. Gordon looked around and then forced his way back out of the press of bodies. Once free he proceeded to inconspicuously wander in the general direction of the officers.

They had their back to the tape, so he came up behind them, and they were far too engrossed in their conversation to notice him anyway. One cop handed the other a set of prints that looked as if they were stills taken from the surveillance cameras. "He can't resist showing us his face."

Gordon craned his neck to see over their shoulders and found himself looking at a grainy blow-up of a pale teenage face. No, it wasn't pale, he was…wearing make-up? White face paint, black rings around the eyes, greasy green hair and a misshapen red grin.

He peered closer, squinting his eyes behind his glasses. Why did the smile run up the boy's cheeks? His cheekily smiling mouth, filled with stinking yellow teeth, ended there…but those ridges… Gordon had to suppress a gasp. They were _scars_.

Oh God, he'd seen this kid before—on the news, another school shooting. Shit…

The cop looked just as shocked as he felt, but the officer recovered faster than the dean of students did. "Put this out," he said, "by morning we can put a big top over central holding and sell tickets. What's he hiding under that make-up?"

That's what Gordon wanted to know. He leaned in a little closer to get a better look at the pictures they were shuffling around, but the police tape crinkled when he touched it and the officers spun around. "Jesus Christ! Could you give us a minute, buddy!?" one of them barked. He gave them an apologetic smile and loped away as the press sprinted over.

He loped straight into something hard and black and a half-a-head shorter than him. The Batman.

"What're the details?" he asked in his gravelly, inhuman voice.

All he had to say was the name, the one this murdering…_God_, he was just a _kid_…"The Joker."

Batman nodded. "Him again. Who are the others?" Body bags with clown masks laying across them were being carted into a Gotham PD van.

Gordon shrugged. "Looks like another bunch of small timers."

The Batman reached down into his belt and pulled out a bundle of cash. "These are marked bills," he explained, "I've been switching them out right under the noses of student drug-users for weeks. This school has drug activity going on inside of it—that makes five schools. That means I've found most of the dealers and their hideouts, and it's time to move in."

"But what about this Joker guy?"

"One man or the entire drug business?" Batman tucked the cash back into his belt. "He can wait."

Gordon shook his head. "You don't understand! You'll have to hit all the schools—or hideouts or whatever—simultaneously! You're just one ki—guy!" He'd almost said kid. However old the Batman was, he wasn't really a child. Perhaps in body, of course, but other than that—no.

He went on to say, "And if the new DA gets wind of this, he'll want in. What'll you do then, huh?"

"Do you trust him?"

Gordon didn't see what _his_ opinion had to do with anything. This was something for the police, for the DA's office, for _the Batman_—not a High School dean of students! Shelving his frustration for the moment he turned away and answered with an uncertain shrug, "I-it'll be hard to keep him out. I hear he's as stubborn as you."

He turned back, but the Batman was already gone. Damn.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Alfred Pennyworth walked past a wall of glass that framed a soaring downtown view as he carried a breakfast tray through the vast, empty penthouse. He stepped in front of a door and knocked lightly with a gloved hand, but when there was no answer he opened it slightly. Within the bedroom of what was obviously a teenage boy, everything was in a proper state of disarray except for the bed, which was still made.

Alfred sighed and turned away.

He took the elevator down to the main floor again and then proceeded out the front door. Several yards away was the garage that kept all of the late Doctor Thomas Wayne's cars that had survived the fire at Wayne Manor, as well as those belonging to his teenage son, Bruce. Thomas and his wife, Martha Wayne, had had a well-developed social-consciousness and a fondness for children. They'd been killed in a shooting while visiting a school for charitable reasons when Bruce had been only eight. Alfred, for the time being, was his legal guardian.

His parents' deaths were the reason for the dark circles under young master Bruce's eyes. The Batman did not make allowances for a teenage boy.

Alfred pushed open the garage door with his back and remarked with his English accent, "Be nice when Wayne Manor's rebuilt and you can swap not sleeping in a penthouse for not sleeping in a mansion."

He placed the breakfast tray on a tool bench and moved over to where Bruce, a handsome dark-haired boy with bright blue eyes, was attempting to stitch up the dog bite on his arm. The butler carefully took the needle from him and continued his work with a far more practiced hand.

Frowning and shaking his dark-haired head, he said, "When you stitch yourself up you do make a bloody mess…"

"But I learn from my mistakes." Bruce gritted his teeth as the needle passed through his flesh again.

"You ought to be pretty knowledgeable by now, then."

Bruce's mouth twitched into half a smile before he said mostly to himself, "My armor…I'm carrying too much weight—I need to be faster."

"Well I'm sure young Mister Fox can oblige." He finished off the final stitch and gave the thread a couple of light tugs before snipping it. He squinted at the wound, then looked up and asked, "Did you get mauled by a tiger?"

"It was a dog."

"Pardon?"

Bruce looked up and revised, "It was a _big_ dog." He stood and looked at his wound before pulling his shirtsleeve down over it. "Thanks."

"What else are butlers for?"

Bruce walked around the front of his black truck and ran a hand over the hood, where a layer of liquid latex was drying. It blended in with the paint unless you were really looking for it.

"There were more copycats last night, Alfred," the young heir said distractedly. "With guns."

Alfred took the glass of orange juice from the breakfast tray and offered it to Bruce. "Perhaps you could hire them and take the day off," he replied, only half-joking.

Bruce laughed and tapped the windshield he'd replaced in the night with a finger. "Uh, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to inspire people."

Alfred nodded, now half-disappointed. "I know. But things _are_ improving. Just look at the new District Attorney." He gestured toward a laptop sitting on a workbench on the opposite wall, where a handsome man in a suit was exiting a taxi. The window the live feed was playing in was titled _Street Cam_. Bruce turned to watch it too, sipping quietly from his glass.

"I am," he said. "Closely. I need to know if he can be trusted. This could be Batman's chance to get close to the police, to the people who can really _do_ things around here. Expelling a gangster isn't going to make him quit the gang, but a few nights in jail…"

The DA was exiting a taxi, helping a woman out of the car. Behind them came a good-looking blond boy and a girl with long brown hair, both about the same age as Bruce.

Alfred pointed at the boy and girl and asked, "Are you interested in his character…or his son's social circle?"

Bruce immediately turned away from the laptop, the tops of his ears turning red. "Who Rachel spends her time with is her business," he said, closing the lid of the laptop to be rid of the sight of his ex-girlfriend.

"Well, I trust you're not following me with those cameras on my day off," Alfred joked.

Bruce joked back, "If you ever took one, I might." He removed his oil and grease-spotted shirt and grabbed a clean one off the bench. His well-muscles body was marred by scars of all shapes and sizes, as well as a couple of gifts given by quick bullets. They were covered by the new shirt he slipped on, but the knowledge of their existence made Alfred feel a deep sadness deep within himself.

"Know your limits, Master Wayne," he cautioned.

Bruce fixed his jet black hair and replied, "Batman has no limits."

"Well, _you_ do, sir."

He gave his butler a reassuring smile and tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Well, can't afford to know 'em!"

Alfred was not cheered. "And what happens on the day you find out?"

"Well, we all know how much you like to say 'I told you so'."

"On that day, Master Wayne, even I won't want to." He managed a wry smile. "Probably."

--

A/N

And chapter Three is UP!!

Wikipedia says Martha was a children-loving philanthropist, so she took her husband with her to some…charity…thing…and they died doing what they loved, which was helping people. The fact that they died in a school shooting also gives Bruce the incentive to work within the school system and ignore the rest of Gotham's problems for the moment.

Er…yeah. Bruce covers up the bat insignia on his truck with liquid latex. Fancy. He knows how to hack both GPD's internet connections and the city's street security cameras. He knows how to operate a grapple gun and lightly radiate money, then switch them out so that he can find out where the dealers hide.

Lucius Fox, in this story, will be the son of the manager of that secret section of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce doesn't get a tank for a batmobile because Lucius's dad would've noticed that if it were missing. But little things like armor and grapple guns—pphh! Blind eye.

Mer.

!!REVIEW puh-leeze!!


	4. Bring Your Kids to Work Day

Harvey Dent and his father busted into the courtroom, the latter dragging along the former by his arm. "Sorry I'm late, folks!" Mister Dent cried to the assembled, dumping his son beside a brown-haired girl in the back row of the gallery. At the plaintiff table before the judge the spitting image of the teenage girl irately looked up from her papers. Dent strode up to the front of the room and began the prosecution.

Rachel leaned in to Harvey and asked under her breath, "Where _were_ you!?"

Harvey leaned back with a cheeky grin and retorted, "Worried your mom'd have to step up?"

She elbowed him in the ribs, hard, and hissed, "My mom knows those briefs backwards, you jerk!"

"If I were such a jerk would I be taking you out for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, Harvey, but I have that book report due on Monday and all of my other homework. I don't think I can go."

Harvey seemed put out for a moment, but then his handsome face brightened and he pulled a silver coin out of his pants pocket. "Well, then, fair's fair: heads, you come with me. Tails, you stay home and die of boredom."

"You're flipping coins to get me to go out with you?" she asked skeptically.

Harvey pouted. "It's my father's lucky coin! As I recall, it got me my _first_ date with you."

Rachel shook her head, though she couldn't quite hide the smile on her face as she insisted, "I'm _serious_, Harvey, you don't leave things like this to chance."

"I don't," he replied, flipping the coin. "I make my own luck." And heads it was. The two teens looked at one another, and Harvey told Rachel with a smile, "I'll pick you up at seven." She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the front of the room, and just as he was about to do the same there came a hiss from across the isle that got Harvey's attention.

It was Sal Maroni, son of Sal Maroni Senior, whom Harvey's father was currently prosecuting for money laundering. A snide-looking kid dressed in an expensive suit, he carried the same air of cool arrogance his father did.

He glared at Harvey and whispered loudly to him, "I thought the DA just played golf with the Mayor, things like that."

Harvey wasn't cowed. "Tee-off's one-thirty. More than enough time for my father to put your _daddy_ away for life, Sally."

Maroni sneered and turned away.

--

Halfway into the court session Harvey was nearly sleeping. His dad had insisted on hauling him along so he could "see how an old pro keeps the streets safe", and in an effort to ward off the very boredom he was feeling right then he'd convinced Mrs. Dawes to bring Rachel, who was inconspicuously texting.

He could hear his father's voice in the front of the room as his eyes drooped shut. He was talking to some mobster…Rossi, who was at the stand.

"With Carmine Falcone in Arkham, someone must've stepped up to run the so-called family. Is this man in the courtroom today? Could you identify him for us, please?"

Harvey knew this was where his father had Maroni Sr. beat. That guy was going away for a long, long—

"You win, counselor," Rossi said. "It was me."

Harvey shot up in his seat. That was _wrong!_ His father had been building up a case against Maroni for _weeks!_ No way this guy was gonna change his story all of a sudden! He couldn't!

Mrs. Dawes was handing Mr. Dent a paper, which he waved in Rossi's face. "I've got a sworn statement from you that this man, Salvatore Maroni, is the new head of the Falcone crime family!"

"Maroni?" Rossi said quizzically. He shrugged. "He's a fall guy. I'm the brains of the organization."

Harvey's head whipped around as scattered laughter came from the gallery. How could they think this was _funny!?_ Maroni Jr. smirked at him from across the isle.

Dent turned to the judge and quickly asked, "Permission to treat the witness as hostile?"

Rossi began to rise from his seat. "Hostile? I'll show you hostile!" He jumped up and pointed a gun at Dent's face.

"Dad!" Harvey yelled, running halfway up the isle before he'd finished saying the word. The people in the gallery were screaming, and then Rossi pulled the trigger. "Dad!" Harvey shouted again. _Too late…_

The gun misfired with a pop. Dent stepped forward, grabbed the gun and decked Rossi with a right cross that had him on the floor in no time. He proceeded to unload weapon and set it down in front of Maroni Sr. Harvey let out a sigh of relief, but did not leave his place in the middle of the isle.

"Ceramic 28 caliber," Dent observed. "Made in China. If you want to kill a public servant, Mister Maroni, I recommend you buy American." Everyone stared, open-mouthed, as the DA calmly adjusted his tie. The bailiffs were wrestling Rossi from the stand.

"Court is adjourned," the judge called out, and the gavel pounded.

Dent turned back to the judge. "But your honor, I'm not done."

Harvey laughed along with everyone but Maroni's side of the gallery.

--

Rachel and Harvey followed their frantically conversing parents through the lobby of the DA's office. Rachel's cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement as she told her boyfriend, "Mom says they'll never link the gun to Maroni, so they can't charge him, but the fact that they tried to kill your dad means they're getting to them."

Harvey glanced at her. "Glad you're so _pleased_, Rachel. He's fine by the way, thanks for asking."

She hooked her arm through his own and sighed. "Harvey, your dad's Gotham's DA—if he's not getting shot at, he's not doing his job." She paused and smiled up at him. "'Course if you said you were rattled we could get out of this place and be _alone_…

Harvey smiled back at her, but he shook his head and replied reluctantly, "Can't. Dad dragged Mister Gordon—you know, our dean of students—down here. Says he's been seen talking to the Batman and he wants him to spill."

"The Batman? You're dad's pretty scary when he gets on the scent of something like that—I hope he at least _tries_ to be nice."

--

Rachel and her mother left after that and Harvey followed his father into his private office. Mister Gordon was already there, looking pretty nervous, and he stood as the two of them entered the room. The two men shook hands.

"Word is you've got a hell of a right cross," Gordon said, making light. "Shame Sal's going to walk."

Dent shrugged and moved to sit behind his desk. Gordon took his previous seat and Harvey moved toward one against the far wall to watch.

"Well, good thing about the mob is they keep giving you second chances." He leaned forward. "But enough of the chit-chat. You say…the _Batman_ told you he was using lightly irradiated bills to track drug activity within the school system. Fancy stuff for just a kid. He have any help?"

Gordon shrugged and wrung his hands in his lap. "It wasn't me, if that's what you're thinking. I—"

Dent cut him off. "Save it, Gordon. I want to meet him."

"But official policy is to, ah…'Arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.'"

"And that flood light on top of Gotham High School?"

Harvey leaned forward in his chair. _Flood light? I mean, there've been rumors, but…really? A bat-signal on the top of my school—and we don't even know about it!?_

Gordon was looking everywhere but into the piercing gaze of the DA. "If you have any concerns about…malfunctioning equipment…I suggest you take them up with school maintenance, counselor."

Dent withdrew and now leaned back into his chair. He suddenly and only for a second looked very weary before he said, "I've put every known money launderer in Gotham behind bars, but the mob is still getting their money out, and some of that money is going into funding the drug trade. Small-time street gangs and big-time mobsters are joining together to cover their asses. I think you and your 'friend' have found the last game in town and you're trying to hit 'em right where they live. It's bold. You gonna count me in?"

Gordon finally looked up. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. "To be honest, I don't really play all that big a part in it. I have no say in anything that he does. Not really, anyway…"

Dent frowned and clenched-unclenched his fists. "Gordon, I don't like that you seem to have your own special connection with this guy, and I don't like that you're keeping me out of the loop here."

The two men stared at each other for a while, neither one sure how to proceed. Gordon didn't seem like the goldmine of information he had when Dent had been notified about a teacher consorting with the Batman, and the DA was a lot more intimidating than Gordon had previously thought he would be. Finally, it was Dent who broke the silence.

"You want me to back arrest warrants for _suspected _drug-trafficking students in five schools without telling me who's calling the shots?"

Gordon swallowed thickly. "I can give you…the names of the students."

Dent sighed and looked around his office. "Well, that's a start. I'll get you your warrants, Gordon, but I want your trust."

Gordon rose and wiped his sweaty palms on his pantlegs. "You don't have to sell me, Dent. We all know you're Gotham's white knight." _Well_, the dean thought, _whether I meant to or not, I guess that answers the Batman's question. I suppose I do trust the DA. Not a lot of people you _can_ trust these days, so I guess that's something._

Dent also rose and grinned as he told Gordon, "I hear they've got a different name for me down at the MCU from when I was still struggling along at Internal Affairs."

Gordon looked away awkwardly and muttered, "Wouldn't know anything about that…"

_I heard they called him Two-Face. Harvey Two-Face._

--

A/N

Trying to make this mob junk teenager-esque is frying my brain. So basically I just combined them.

Batman's after the dealers, but he doesn't know that the mob's involved. Or maybe he does. Whatever. Dent is after the mobsters, who have teamed up with the dealers to "cover their asses". Because everyone knows, when it comes to covering your ass, two hands are better than one.

Say, should I do Batman Begins after I'm through with TDK? I know it's kind of backwards, but then again I am a HUGE fan of Star Wars.

Tell me in your REVIEWS what you think of it, okay? Alright? Do you see any problems with the plot so far that might irritate me in the future??

i.e.: Instead of Bruce throwing Harvey a fund-raiser, I'm having the Fat Cats at Wayne Enterprises throw his dad a fund-raiser.

Course, I'll have to lower the IQ's of everyone at the party so they don't think it's suspicious that the normally school-oriented Batman has suddenly shown up at Bruce Wayne's penthouse.

!!Please Review!!


	5. Fashion and Function

Mr. Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and the board were listening closely to Lau, CEO of LSI Holdings.

"In China LSI Holdings stands for dynamic new growth. A joint Chinese venture with Wayne Enterprises will be a powerhouse," Lau was saying.

Mr. Fox stood and said as he shook Lau's hand, "Well, Mister Lau, I speak for the rest of the board…and Mister Wayne, in expressing our own excitement."

Everyone looked down the conference table to where two teenage boys, both with their suit jackets crumpled on the table in front of them, both slumped with their heads buried in their arms. Bruce and Lucius, the son of the CEO, were asleep.

Fox gave Lau an apologetic smile and showed him to the elevator. "It's alright, Mister Fox," Lau said. "Everyone knows who really runs Wayne Enterprises."

Fox nodded, but otherwise ignored the comment and replied, "We'll be in touch as soon as our people have wrapped up the diligence." Lau dipped his head as the elevator doors closed and Reese, an M and A consultant lawyer, approached Fox.

He passed a hand over his face and sighed, "Sir, I know Mister Wayne's curious how his trust fund gets replenished but frankly…it's embarrassing."

"You worry about the diligence, Mister Reese. Bruce Wayne, at the moment, is of no consequence."

"I—it's done," Reese said exasperatedly, shaking his head. "The numbers are solid."

Fox smiled. "Well, do it again. Wouldn't want the trust fund to run out, would we?"

--

In the boardroom, someone had roused Bruce and Lucius, and now the two of them stood together in front of a window that looked out over a good deal of the Gotham financial district.

Lucius, a dark-skinned boy who appeared to be a few years older than Wayne, glanced at Bruce and asked as though he already knew, "Another long night?" Bruce smiled, but did not reply, so Lucius went on like the teenage genius he was, "_You're_ the one who suggested this joint venture thing to my dad. The part I managed to stay awake for the consultants seemed to love, but I'm not really convinced. I snuck a peek at the paperwork my dad has on this and LSI's grown eight percent annually, like clockwork. They must have a revenue stream that's off the books. Maybe even illegal."

Bruce looked at his friend. "Okay. Tell your dad I was wrong. Tell him to cancel the deal."

Lucius chuckled. "You already knew."

"Just needed a closer look at their books. Good work, L."

He made a wry face. "Why thank you, _Mister Wayne_. Anything else you can trouble me for?"

"I need a new suit…"

Lucius looked over his friend, who had once again donned his jacket. "Well, three buttons is a little nineties…"

Bruce laughed and fiddled self-consciously with one of the buttons on his jacket. "Er…I'm not talking fashion so much as _function_." He pulled some diagrams out of his pocket and discretely handed them over. Lucius shuffled through them.

"You want to be able to turn your head?"

"Sure make backing out of the driveway easier."

"I'll see what I can do."

--

Harvey tore his eyes away from Rachel, who was sitting across the table from him, just long enough to look around at their posh surroundings. The restaurant had gold everywhere, and shining crystal chandeliers hung up above. There were the sounds of polite conversation all around, as well as the gentle tinkling of eating utensils touching plates. They were the youngest couple in the place.

Harvey leaned forward, as if afraid to disturb the gaudily-dressed adults on all sides of them, and told his date, "It took three weeks to get a reservation here, _and_ I had to tell them my dad works for the government."

She rolled her eyes and feigned intense interest. "Really?"

"The city health inspector's not afraid to pull strings."

Rachel smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but then she caught sight of another young couple walking through the tables toward them.

Harvey noticed her gaze had wandered and he twisted around in his seat. "What?"

It was Bruce Wayne and some beautiful dame with white-blond hair piled high on her head. He was wearing a clearly expensive tux, while she wore a sexy but simple black dress that Harvey couldn't help thinking would look _great_ on Rachel.

"Rachel!" Bruce exclaimed in surprise. "Fancy that."

"Bruce," Rachel said, sounding significantly less enthused. "Fancy that."

The girl on Bruce's arm made a small noise and pushed out her already pouty lips, and the teen hastily introduced his date, "Rachel, Natascha. Natascha, Rachel."

"Hello," Natascha said in a Russian accent with a dazzling smile.

Harvey attempted to dispel the awkwardness he was feeling by breaking into the conversation. "The famous Bruce Wayne," he said. "Rachel's told me everything about you."

Bruce nodded him a greeting and replied with, "We'll I certainly hope not."

_What the hell is that supposed to mean…?_

Rachel quickly introduced him, and the proud way she said his name, as if he were some prize, made him grin. "Bruce, this is Harvey Dent."

Bruce blinded him with a smile and said, "Hey, uh, let's put a couple tables together, huh?"

Harvey looked around, hoping to give Wayne a hint. "I don't know if they'll let us…"

"Well, they should. I own the place."

Rachel cast Harvey a glance and tried to change the subject. "Natascha, aren't you…?"

Wayne interrupted her and Harvey had to prevent himself from chucking something at the guy. "Prima ballerina for the Moscow Youth Ballet."

"Harvey's taking me next week."

"Oh?" He turned to Harvey. "So you're into ballet?"

--

Surviving dinner with the prince prude and his…albeit attractive foreign date was torture. Sure, Natascha was nice enough, but whenever more than four words came out of Wayne's mouth she jumped right in to defend whatever he said.

_Waiter, more oysters, please._

_Oh, yes, of course, Bruce! We must have more of these delicious oysters!_

It was only toward the end of their meal that the conversation actually got interesting.

Natascha was expressing her opinion yet again, but at least she wasn't hopelessly agreeing with Wayne again. "No, come on—how could you want to raise children in a city like this?"

"I was raised here," Wayne said. "I turned out okay."

Harvey thought that was debatable. "Is Wayne Manor in the city limits?"

"The Palisades? Sure. You know, with your dad as our new DA and all you might want to figure out where his jurisdiction ends."

Natascha interjected once again, "I'm talking about the kind of city that idolizes a masked vigilante!"

Ah, and here was where Harvey came in. "Gotham's proud of an ordinary kid standing up for what's right. Or at least it should be."

She shook her head. "Gotham needs heroes like your father—elected officials, not a little boy playing superhero who thinks he's above the law."

"Exactly," Wayne agreed. "Who exactly appointed the Batman, huh?"

"_We_ did. All of us who stood by and let drug dealers and gang-bangers take control of our school."

"But this is a democracy, Harvey," Natascha insisted.

"Well, according to my history teacher…when their enemies were at the gate, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city. It wasn't considered an honor. It was considered a public service."

Rachel laughed and responded with, "I'm _in_ your history class, Harvey, and the last man they asked to protect the republic was named Caesar and he never _gave up_ his power."

Okay, so Wayne had his girlfriend against him now. That hurt. "Fine then," Harvey said. "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Look, whoever the Batman is, he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life doing this. How could he? Eventually he'll be looking for someone to take up his mantle."

"Someone like you, Mister Dent?" Natascha asked teasingly.

"Maybe." He didn't know if he was joking or not, but it felt like the right thing to say. "If I'm up to it."

She reached up with her menu and covered up the top half of his face. She mused, "What if Harvey Dent is the caped crusader…?"

He chuckled. "Heh, I don't think so, Natascha. If I were sneaking out every night someone would've noticed by now." Harvey took Rachel's hand and saw her glance awkwardly at Wayne. _I guess there's bound to be some awkwardness between old flames…but it's Wayne's own fault he let someone like Rachel go, just for some fancy dancer who's only with him for his cash._

But Bruce was about to surprise him. He shrugged and said to him, "Well, you've sold me, Dent. Have you heard about the fund-raiser the fat cats at my, ah…future company are throwing for you father?"

"Er, yeah, my dad might've mentioned it. What I was wondering is why are they throwing him one now? I mean, he's not up for reelection for three years, so that stuff won't start for—"

"It's kind of like a good-publicity stunt. Everyone's so impressed with your dad's work that it makes _them_ look good if they endorse him. Heh, one fundraiser with their deep-pocket pals and your old man'll never need another cent. Anyway, I've invited a bunch of _my_ friends along so I won't be stuck with those old guys, their snooty trophy wives, and their snootier little purse dogs. How'd you and Rachel like to come along?"

Harvey had a feeling that if it were up to Wayne, he wouldn't be coming at all. But hey, it was a fund-raiser for his dad, after all, so chances were he'd be forced to go anyway. Might as well just surrender now before things got messy…

"Sure, Bruce. Sounds cool. We'll definitely be there."

--

A/N

See? So that's how the party scene is gonna work.

Next scene is one of my FAVORITE!!! Hooray for group therapy in broad daylight!!!!

I said the acronym CEO too many times in that first part. Forgive me, please.

Yeah, short author's note this time. ReViEw, please!


	6. Group Therapy

It was Saturday, so Gotham High School was empty.

…It was _supposed_ to be empty. There were cars in the parking lot—high-end autos as well as flame-painted crap heaps. The mob was working with second-rate gang-bangers, so compromises had to be reached. It was no junkie-filled rat hole, but it wasn't the borrowed conference room of a posh hotel either.

It was a high school cafeteria. Nobody was happy, but at least they had that in common.

The teenage Chechen was being checked for weapons outside the doorway by two Chinese men in dark suits. Beside him a large African-American man was being wanded. His name was Gambol, and he was one of the mob bosses. The two of them eyed each other warily as they were allowed into the room.

Sal Maroni Sr. was already sitting at the table with Maroni Jr. by his side and their respective men behind them. As Gambol and the Chechen joined their own men and made themselves comfy two more burly Chinese men carried over a small television set and placed it at the end of the table.

"What the hell is this!?" the Chechen demanded indignantly.

The screen flickered to life, showing to the assembled the face of Lau. The room erupted, but after a moment he hushed them. "Gentlemen, please," he said calmly. "As you're all aware, one of...._our_ trading posts has been compromised. Gotham's schools are expected to pay us protection, but, of course, they cannot if they have no money. Someone's been…ah…_liberating_ their funds, as of late."

The Chechen shook his head. "Who's stupid enough steal from us?"

"I'm told the character who arranged the robberies calls himself the Joker."

"Who the hell is that?"

Maroni Senior picked a bit of invisible lint off the lapel of his fine suit and said nonchalantly, "Two-bit whack-job wears a cheap purple suit and make-up. He's not the problem—he's a nobody."

"The _problem_," Maroni Junior interrupted, "is our money being tracked by the cops."

There were murmurs of surprise all around, which Lau once again silenced. "Thanks to the Maronis' well-placed sources we know that police have indeed identified our trading posts using marked bills and are planning on seizing our dealers today—"

Everyone began shouting at once, so outraged that Lau could not calm them as he had before. He leaned back and waited for the noise to subside.

The Chechen was yelling the loudest. "You promised safe, clean deal—"

Lau finally raised his voice, "With the investigation ongoing, none of you can risk keeping close tabs on your own dealers and their proceeds. And since the enthusiastic new DA has put all my competitors out of business, I'm your only option."

Maroni had gotten his men to shut up, and now he leaned toward the TV and asked, "So…what are you proposing?"

"Moving all dealers to a safe-house and their proceeds to one secure location. Not a bank."

"Where, then?" Gambol demanded.

Lau gave a sly smile. "Obviously, no one can know but me. If the police were to gain leverage over one of you everyone's money would be at stake."

The Chechen cocked his head to one side like an inquisitive dog. "And what stops them getting to you?"

"As the money is moved I go to Hong Kong. Far from Dent's jurisdiction. And the Chinese will not extradite one of their own."

Maroni Sr. asked, "How soon can you move the money?"

"I already have. For obvious reasons I couldn't wait for your permission. Rest assured, your money," he looked to the mobsters, "and your dealers," he looked to the gangsters, "are safe."

And then from the kitchen came laughter. Everyone twisted in their seats to see who was laughing, and out from behind the empty serving counter stepped a kid.

He couldn't have been older than seventeen, but it was hard to tell with the white make-up covering most of his face. He was wearing a purple suit with a loud green tie, and as he approached the tensing mobsters and gang members his laughter became less and less enthusiastic.

"Oo-hee-ha-ha-oo-hee-hee…" he said in a deadpan tone, following up with a disapproving look at Lau. "I thought _my_ jokes were bad." The Joker yanked a chair off of a neatly stacked pile, causing it to topple, and placed it at the opposite end of the table from Lau.

Gambol clenched his fist and jerked his head at the man behind him. "Give me one reason I shouldn't have my boy here pull your head off."

The Joker considered him for a moment before jerking a freshly sharpened pencil out of his jacket pocket. "How 'bout a magic trick?" he asked. He slammed the pencil into the table, leaving it upright, and plopped down into his chair. "I'm gonna _make_ this pencil…disappear!"

His audience was not amused.

Gambol gave his man a nod and he went at the clown. The Joker leapt up from his seat, sidestepped the oncoming tough guy, grabbed the back of his head and rammed his face onto the table. The man went limp and slid to the floor.

The Joker carefully sat back down again and made a grand gesture at the blood-smeared dent in the table. "Ta-da! It's…ah, it's _gone_." He looked around expectantly for feedback.

When he received none, Joker brushed off the front of his jacket and added, "And by the way, the suit wasn't cheap. I guess you oughta know—you bought it! Well…to be fair, I guess some of Gotham's hard-working _law-abiding_—" he rolled his eyes and made a gagging face,

"—parents chipped in, too."

Gambol stood furiously, murder etched into every line of the glare on his face.

"Sit down," Maroni Sr. ordered. "I wanna hear the proposition this guy'd better have."

The Joker licked his lips and pointed down, telling Gambol to obey. He had no choice but to grudgingly do so.

The Joker nodded his thanks to Maroni Sr. and began, "A year ago these, uh, cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you. I-I mean what happened? Did-didja _balls_ drop off? See, a guy like me—"

"A freak," Gambol spat. There was scattered laughter, which the kid tried to ignore.

"A guy like me…Look, I know why you have your little," he cleared his throat delicately, "_group therapy_ sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night." Joker paused for effect and licked his lips. "The Batman. He's shown Gotham your true colors unfortunate_lee. _A-and Dent's just the beginning."

Now he indicated Lau with an accusing purple-gloved finger and went on, "And as for the, uh, _television's_ so-called _plan_—Batman _has_ no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make him squeal! I can tell the squealers when I see them and, ah…" He jerked a thumb at Lau, who hastily covered his camera and then disconnected. The TV screen went black.

The Chechen scratched at the stubble on his chin and asked, "What you propose?"

Joker licked his lips again. It seemed a habit of his. "It's simple," he stated. "_Kill_ the Batman."

The proposal was met with jeers and laughter. Above it all Maroni Jr. called out, "If it's so easy why haven't you done it already?"

Joker grinned with a mouthful of foul yellow teeth and replied, "Like my mother used to tell me—if you're good at something, never do it for free."

The Chechen waved a hand at his guys to get them to shut up and asked reasonably, "How much you want?"

The Joker licked his lips and made a thoughtful face. "Uh…_half_,"

More laughter, which he just shrugged off. "Oh, come on, guys. You don't deal with this now, soon, uh, Gambol here…won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma."

Gambol slammed his hands down on the table and yelled, "_Enough_ from the clown!" He got to his feet and stormed toward the kid, who also stood and casually opened his jacket, revealing several neat rows of grenades stitched to the inside lining. He had his thumb stuck through a ring with a string tied around it, which led to the pins of the explosives. Gambol stopped in his tracks, breathing hard. Everyone in the room gasped and those who were sitting began to stand.

"Let's not _blow_ this…out of proportion," Joker said, tugging threateningly on the string.

Gambol stared hard at the Joker, gritting his teeth. "You think you can steal from us and just walk away!?"

"…Yeah."

"I'm putting the word out—five hundred grand for this little bastard dead. A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first."

Joker gave the mobster a look that clearly said he thought Gambol was a total weirdo, then he turned back to the assembled and told them, "Let me know when you decide to take things a little more serious_lee_. Here's my card." He placed a regular joker from a deck of playing cards on the table before giving everyone a curt little nod and backing out the door leading to the outside.

Nobody dared follow him, but once he'd rounded the corner he pulled the pins out of the grenades with a giggle. Purple and green confetti exploded from them with several little pops.

--

A/N

This is one of my favorite scenes in the movie, but one of my least favorite, next to the restaurant scene, to see written. I think I've butchered it.

-falls to knees, sobbing- Gawd, I hate this chapter and I don't know why!!!

-stuffs face with comfort food-

Please review and tell me either how wrong I am or how right I am. Mer. And I just realized that all of these chapters are about four pages long. Mer.

!!Review!!


	7. Aggressive Expansion

Once again the bat-signal was pointed into the sky, but on this particular night it was not Jim Gordon on the roof of Gotham High. The new DA stood beside the searchlight, a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit with a shadow that seemed to be a half a head shorter than him.

Harvey had managed to convince his dad to let him come along to see the legend that was Batman, on the condition that he wouldn't bring his cell phone along to take pictures with. But they'd been up on the roof for nearly an hour and still no teen masquerading as a creature of the night had appeared.

He turned with a sigh, thinking how disappointed Rachel would be (because, of course, once he'd worn his dad down the first person he'd called was his beloved girlfriend) when she discovered he hadn't shown…and as he turned he found himself face-to-face with the Batman.

"Whoa!" he yelped, immediately jumping back a foot. He was glad he was across the roof from the searchlight because he could feel his face heating up from embarrassment.

Harvey's father whirled around. Batman stood with his back to the open air, a silent statue carved of black stone. Mr. Dent took a step forward and remarked, "You're a hard young man to reach."

There was silence on the Batman's part, but that was when Jim Gordon burst out onto the roof, panting. He'd obviously seen the bat-signal being operated by someone other than himself and come to investigate. When Dent saw him he momentarily forgot about the Batman and rounded angrily on the dean of students. "Lau's halfway to Hong Kong—if you'd gotten a hold of me sooner, I could've taken his passport—I _told_ you to keep me in the loop!"

"Yeah?" Gordon replied with the same fury. "The dealers were out of school today and all that was left in their cash-stashes were marked bills! And on top of that, I heard it was the same deal with the mob bank seizures you tried to do! They _knew_ you were coming! As soon as your office got involved, there's a leak—"

"_My_ office?! You're sitting down here with your little lackies like Wuertz and Ramirez—"

"Don't try to cloud the fact that clearly Maroni's got people in your office, Dent!"

Dent shook his head and turned to Batman. "We need Lau back, but the Chinese won't extradite a national under any circumstances. Look…I know it's a lot to ask of you, but the fact is we're desperate here. Is there anything you can do to get Lau back?"

Batman dipped his head slightly. "If I get him to talk to you," he said in his raspy voice, "can you get him to talk?"

Dent jerked his head in assent. "I'll get him to sing."

Gordon shook his head and passed a hand over his tired face. "You're going after the combined life savings of the mob and the city's gangs. Things will get ugly."

Dent turned back to the dean and told him firmly, "I knew the risks when I took this job, Gordon." He turned back to the Batman. "How will you get him back, then?"

But he was gone. Harvey was standing stock-still, gazing out into the night and Gordon admitted in response to Dent's startled look, "He does that a lot."

--

Lucius Fox rose from his seat at the small table beside his father's desk as Bruce entered the room. Shoving the homework he'd been working on into his backpack, he told his father, "Bruce and I are gonna get out of here, dad."

CEO Fox glanced away from his computer screen long enough to nod and reply, "Alright. Stay out of trouble, you two."

"Not a problem, Mister Fox," Bruce promised with a dazzling smile.

The two teenagers exited into the hallway and pressed a button to call the elevator. Lucius turned to Bruce and told him, "Our Chinese friend left town before my dad could tell him the deal is off."

"Well I'm sure you've always wanted to go to Hong Kong."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Lucius pulled a key out of his jeans pocket and stuck it into a key hole with the label Private next to it. He turned the key and asked, "What's wrong with a phone call? And I know my dad's pretty easy for you to cajole—since you're the one that got him promoted and all—but convincing him to go to Hong Kong just to cancel a business deal? That'll be a tough one to pull off even for you."

Bruce shrugged. "Tough, but not impossible; and I think Mister Lau deserves a more personal touch."

The elevator came to a stop and Lucius pulled the key out of the slot. The doors opened and the two of them stepped out into the abandoned Applied Sciences Division, a vast space filled with leftover pieces of high-tech equipment and gadgets that were never put into mass-production. The fact that it was abandoned and Lucius had the only key to the otherwise restricted floor made it a perfect place for Batman to stock up on everything he needed to fight crime.

"For high altitude jumps, you need oxygen and stabilizers. I must say—compared to your usual requests, jumping out of an airplane is pretty straightforward," Lucius remarked. He stopped at a cabinet, pulled open a drawer and hauled out an oxygen tank and ribbed rubber hosing.

Bruce nodded appreciatively. "How about getting back into the plane?"

"I recommend a good travel agent."

"Without it landing," he added with a smile.

Lucius looked up and chuckled. "Now that's more like it, Bruce." He shut the drawer and moved over to another table with a black case sitting on it, a thoughtful look on his face. "I don't think I have anything here. The CIA had a program in the '60s for getting their people out of hot spots, though, called Sky Hook. I'll look into that, but for the time being…" He clicked open the black case, revealing several pieces of new armor for Batman's suit.

Bruce grabbed a gauntlet and examined it as his friend explained, "Hardened Kevlar plates on a titanium-dipped fiber tri-weave for flexibility. You'll be lighter, faster, more agile—"

Bruce flinched as the double blade scallops adorning the gauntlet fired, spinning like throwing stars as they whisked past his ear and embedded themselves in a filing cabinet. Lucius looked at him with raised eyebrows and said, "Perhaps you should read the instructions first."

The tops of Bruce's ears turned red. "Sorry."

Lucius took the gauntlet from him and pressed it back into the Styrofoam mold. He picked up the chest plate, which had a black bat molded onto it, and went on, "Now, here's the trade-off…the spread of the plates gives you weak spots. You'll be more vulnerable to gunfire and knives."

"Wouldn't want things getting too easy, would we?" As if the thought had suddenly occurred to him he asked, "How will it hold up against dogs?"

Lucius looked at him quizzically. "You talking Chihuahuas or rottweilers?" He smiled. "Should do fine against cats."

--

In the garage that served as the Batman's headquarters, Bruce had a parachute harness on his back, testing the fit, and Alfred walked over with a diagram. He unrolled a picture of a Navy cargo plane with a giant V mounted on the front.

"I found one," the butler said. "In Arizona. Very nice man says it will take him a week to get it up and running. And he takes cash. What about a flight crew?"

Bruce adjusted his right shoulder strap. "South Korean smugglers. They run flights into Pyongyang, below radar the whole way. Did you think of an alibi?"

Alfred suddenly looked quite pleased with himself. "Oh, yes…"

--

Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent had arrived at the theatre, both dressed in their very best clothes. It was the premier night of the Moscow Youth Ballet, which Rachel had been dying to see ever since she'd heard it was coming to town. Harvey, amazing boyfriend that he was, had agreed to take her as soon as possible.

They were disappointed to find, however, that the box office was shuttered, and the walkway in front of the building was relatively deserted. A sign reading 'Performance Canceled' had been hung above a newspaper clipping taped to the inside of the glass. The picture was that of a pearly yacht on a beautiful tropical ocean, and on that yacht was none other than Bruce Wayne.

Rachel shook her head in an 'I-don't-believe-it' fashion as Harvey's blood began to boil.

The clipping's headline read _'__Teen Billionaire Absconds with Entire Moscow Youth Ballet'_

--

The Caribbean sun was wonderfully hot as it sparkled on the clear blue water. Bruce's yacht was anchored a kilometer or two off shore from a white sandy beach. Bruce himself was standing on deck wearing a cool pair of shades, leaning on the barrier and sipping a cool drink. Alfred came toward him, picking his way through the twelve sunbathing ballerinas.

He pointed to a seaplane gently touching down across the bay and stated, "I believe your plane is here."

Bruce carefully placed his drink on a deck chair and asked teasingly, "You look tired, Alfred. Will you be alright without me?"

Alfred looked over at the teenage ballerinas as one of them rolled over and waved a bottle of suntan lotion at him, raising her plucked eyebrows pointedly.

He looked back to his ward and replied in a low voice, "If you can tell me the Russian for 'apply your own bloody suntan lotion'."

Bruce laughed and stooped to retrieve a large, waterproof kit bag, which he threw into the water. He promptly dove in after it and began dragging it through the water toward the seaplane.

--

Inside Gambol's hideout, the mobster racked up a game of pool. One of his men stepped into the room. "Somebody here for you, Boss. They say they've killed the Joker. They've come for the reward."

He looked up from his game. Three teen gangbangers were waiting, trying to look cool and cocky.

"They bring proof?" Gambol asked, straightening up.

"They say they've brought the body."

Two more guys entered the room, struggling slightly under the weight of the body that was wrapped in black garbage bags. They flopped it onto the billiard table and backed away as their boss came and pulled back one of the bags, revealing the kid's make-up-covered, and blood-smeared face.

He smiled and turned to the gangsters. "So, that's dead. You get five hundred—"

There was a sudden rustling of garbage bags as the Joker sat up and pulled a switchblade out of the pocket of his purple coat. "How 'bout alive!?" he hissed as Gambol spun around.

The gangsters had guns to the grown men's heads, forcing them down to their knees.

The Joker got his switchblade into Gambol's mouth and maneuvered it so that sharp metal pulled his dark cheek taut. "Wanna know how I got these scars?" the Joker said quietly, licking his red lips. "My father…was a drinker. And a _fiend_. He'd beat mommy right in front of me, see?" Gambol's eyes widened as the knife's blade pulled tighter at his cheek; but the Joker would not allow him to turn his head to escape the pain. "One night he goes off _crazier_ than usual…mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. Well, he doesn't like that. Not. One. _Bit_." His lip curled and he said the last words with obvious disgust. He gave the knife a little twitch and Gambol winced.

"So…me watching…he takes the knife to her, _laughing_ while he does it. An' he turns to me and says 'why so serious?' Comes at _me_ with the knife—_'why so serious?'_ He sticks the blade in my mouth…'Let's put a _smile_ on that _face_!' And…"

The Joker looked over Gambol's shoulder to the ashen faces of the remaining mobsters. He let his scars smile for him as he asked ironically, "Why so serious?"

With a flick of his wrist and a wave of his knife, Gambol went limp and slumped to the floor with a thud. The Joker tore the garbage bags off of him and hopped down off the billiard table. After putting his switchblade back into his pocket, he walked around the room and said in a businesslike manner, "Now…our organization is small, but we've got a lot of potential for…_aggressive expansion!_" He skipped up to the mobsters and asked, "So, which of you fine gentlemen would like to join our _team_?"

All three of them nodded as frantically as they could with guns pressed to their skulls. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, the Joker reached over to the cue rack and snapped a billiards cue in half. The ends were jagged and sharp. He dropped them on the ground and exited the room with the words, "Make it fast."

His gangsters released the mobsters, throwing them to the ground, and stood guard at the door. The men stared at each other. Then at the broken cue.

--

A/N

This is officially the longest chapter! Five pages instead of four! Woot!

Okay, so teenage Joker killed his daddy. In BB, Gordon says he's been charged with two homicides. Technically he only killed one of them, but I'm betting he didn't stick around to clear his name of just one murder.

And yes, it is totally legal for teenagers to skip several weeks of school to go cruising on the Caribbean, and then hop a ride on a cargo plane. And no, it is not creepy that Alfred is all alone with teenage girls on a yacht. Shut up.

Even though, uh, in the movie when Alfred turns to the ballerinas I was like 'Yeah, he's gonna get some', but then he's like 'apply your own bloody suntan lotion'. And I was like '…oh'.

I hate writing my favorite scenes because I feel that I butcher them. They are just so much better in the movie.

If lines and/or actions don't match up, don't blame me. Blame on-set re-writes. I'm using the original TDK script, which I found online and do not own. AT ALL. NOT ME. EVER.

Don't accuse me of stealing, 'cuz I won't like that. Not. One. Bit.

Reivew! Please, please, review!


	8. Raid in China

"Welcome to Hong Kong, Mister Fox!" the Chinese VP yelled over the helicopter's engine, striding across the helipad to shake hands with the CEO. "Mister Lau regrets he is unable to meet you in person. But with his current legal difficulties—"

"I understand!" Fox yelled back, shaking the man's hand. Behind him Lucius hesitantly exited the helicopter, wincing against the noise of the blades thumping the air.

Once they had been escorted back to solid ground, Fox and his son were ushered through security; and the VP told them with an apologetic smile, "I'm afraid for security reasons I have to ask for your mobile phones."

Both Lucius and his father handed over their cell phones to the security guard, who put them in a box beneath his station.

--

The luncheon porch of LSI Holdings was fancy but modest for a company of such size and power. Lucius sat picking at what remained of his lunch at a table slightly away from the one Lau and his father shared, talking about business.

That Lau was one hell of a liar.

"I must apologize for leaving Gotham in the middle of our negotiations," he was saying. "This…misunderstanding with the Gotham police force—I couldn't let such a thing threaten my company. A businessman of your stature will understand. But with you _here_, we can continue." He sounded delighted at the prospect.

"Well, it was good of you to bring me out here in such style, Mister Lau. But actually I've come—"

Lucius flinched as his cell phone began to loudly emit Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. He pulled the second cell out of his pocket and switched it off, placing it on his table with a sheepish look.

Lau glared at him and said with thinly veiled anger, "We do not allow cell phones in—"

"Sorry!" he interjected, eyes innocently wide. "Forgot I had it!"

Fox gave his son a strange look as he distinctly remembered him handing his cell phone in to security. After a minute he shook his head and turned back to Lau with a small smile, "So, I've come to explain that we're going to have to put our deal on hold."

Lau's eyes narrowed. He was clearly contemplating stabbing the fellow CEO with his fork. Fox continued to smile, however, and Lucius couldn't help but be proud of his father's tact.

"We can't afford to be seen to do business with…well, whatever it is you're accused of being. A businessman of your stature will understand, I'm sure."

"I think, Mister Fox," Lau said coldly, "that a simple phone call might have sufficed."

"Mister Wayne didn't want you to think we'd been deliberately wasting your time. After all, this joint venture was his idea in the first place. He's a smart young man, Bruce Wayne."

"Yes well, my time is a precious thing that is not to be wasted…even accidentally."

Fox chuckled and nodded appreciatively, "That's very good—'accidentally'. Very good. I'll be sure and tell Mister Wayne that he was wrong about you not having a sense of humor."

Lucius snorted into his sleeve and grabbed his cell phone off the table, stuffing it back into his pocket. His sleeve, however, couldn't quite hide the grin on his face.

--

Lucius and his father walked back through security and were given their cell phones. The one Lucius was offered he declined, however, holding up the second phone he'd brought in. The security guard looked confusedly at the phone in his hand and placed it back into the tray with several others.

--

Bruce stood rather close to a group of tourists, looking balefully at his cell phone like a teen that would rather be anywhere else but a family vacation to Hong Kong. He pretended to begin texting as Lucius came up beside him on the pretense of taking in the view from the top of the central escalators.

"There's a better view from the peak tram," he stated, leaning over the barrier slightly, squinting as if something incredibly interesting was on the horizon.

"How's the view from LSI Holdings?" Bruce asked his friend, pretending to take a picture with his phone.

"Restricted. Lau's holed up in there good and tight."

"Glad you got your dad to bring you along. How'd you do it?"

"It actually wasn't too hard. He figures with you as my best friend I'll always have a sure spot at Wayne Enterprises, so school is sort of…second to an educational outing to China. I guess having an IQ of 200 had a little something to do with it too. Here…" Lucius pulled out his own phone and with a press of a button brought up a 3D map of Lau's office suite.

Bruce took it and gazed at the display curiously. "What's this?"

Lucius explained, "I snuck into R and D and worked it out—it sends out high frequencies and records the response time to map an environment."

Bruce's face twisted into a wry smile and remarked, "Sonar. Just like a ba—"

"Submarine, Bruce," Lucius interrupted with a similar smile. "Like a submarine."

"And the other device?"

"In place."

Bruce nodded and began to follow the tourists off down the escalators, and as the stairs carried him down Lucius called after him in a voice that barely carried, "Bruce? Good luck."

--

Bruce was crouched on the roof of the tallest building that stood on the glittering skyline. He donned his pointy-eared cowl and stood slowly, pulling two black boxes from his utility belt. He clicked them together and unfolded them into a rifle-like device.

Batman aligned his scope with a second, lower building, adjusted something on his rifle and fired four times.

Four small sticky bombs slapped onto the glass of the lower building, their digital timers beginning to count down as soon as they made contact.

--

In the security tray in LSI Holdings, Lucius's abandoned cell phone began to glow as random bits of computer code raced across the screen. The security monitors flickered off and the few lights that were on began to dim. All at once the locked doors began to open, and a guard grabbed his radio to call for help…

--

Batman launched himself into the glittering night, dropping from the tall tower. His cap burst open, instantly becoming a set of jet black wings that allowed him to glide down to the lower building. He shifted his weight slightly and banked hard so that he was suddenly headed right for a window in the corner of the building.

His wings collapsed back into a cape as he hurtled through the glass, exploding into the office in a cannonball of black armor. He rolled across the floor in a flurry of broken glass and quickly ran into the shadows.

Meanwhile, Lau stepped out of his office with a pistol in hand. His personal bodyguards were grouped outside the door, armed with guns and flashlights.

"Where the hell are the cops!?" he demanded in Chinese.

"Coming," a bodyguard replied.

Lau made a frustrated noise and began to head for the stairwell, ranting. "What the hell am I paying them for!?"

As they arrived on the level below, something crashed across the room. The bodyguards fanned out, trying to cover the room with their flashlights.

Suddenly, one of the flashlights went dark. Then another. There was a hoarse scream as a third bodyguard was engulfed in darkness with the rustling of a black cape.

Lau fired his pistol blindly, half-blinding himself as the muzzle flashed. Once he'd emptied the clip he stumbled into an office and slammed the door behind him to reload. The door shuddered as a black-armored foot rammed into it. Lau's fingers fumbled with the new clip, but he managed to get his weapon loaded just as the door flew open with a bang.

He whirled around and fired into the darkness—fired again. It was him, the one those gangsters whose money he'd been keeping feared most. He tried to tell himself that this thing was a mere child, a little boy playing dress-up—but he couldn't quite convince himself.

The Batman didn't flinch as the bullets sparked off of his chest plate. Instead, he punched Lau in the face and strapped a small pack onto the stunned man.

Outside, the timers on the sticky bombs hit zero…

The Hong Kong police burst into the room just as the corner of the building behind Lau and Batman exploded, raining flaming bits of plaster and desk chairs into the dawn air. There was a low rumbling sound that was steadily approaching through the sky, a sound almost like a plane's engine…

Batman jerked a ripcord on Lau's pack and a weather balloon tumbled out of it and gently floated upward, unreeling a rope of high-test nylon.

The police were hesitantly picking their way through the debris to the cornered black beast and his hostage, but then the rumbling in the sky built to a roar and a massive C-130 came into view. The giant V on the front of the plane snagged the nylon line, and Lau and Batman were yanked through the gaping hole into open air.

One side of Batman's mouth pulled up just a bit as Lau screamed at the top of his lungs and clung to him, though he was the one attached to the plane. They were pulled up into the cargo hold, and then the aircraft's hold slowly closed up as it drifted over the ocean.

--

Gordon was sitting in his office going through a stack of files when Ramirez walked in. He looked up questioningly and she jerked her head at the door.

"You're gonna want to see this," she said.

He followed her down into the teacher's lounge, where Wuertz was sitting in front of the television set they'd recovered from the cafeteria. There was a live news feed showing a crowd of excited cops in front of the MCU.

Gordon's mouth fell open as the camera forced its way past the cops to show what they were staring at. On the ground, trussed like a chicken, was Lau. He gazed blearily around at the goings on with his head drooping, as if he'd had a long, tough night.

The camera closed up on a sign taped to his chest: _'Please deliver to DA Dent'_.

--

A/N

So, instead of delivering Lau to the DA's office, he dropped him off at the MCU. How semi-convenient.

Er…Lucius' dad is such a push-over. You'll see when I do BB how Bruce got Fox to turn from lab rat to CEO.

Final Destination 3D looks awesome.

There may or may not be a nearly complete rewrite to make this a bit more teen-esque. EVERYONE in that version will be a teen. Sort of. The Mayor and Gordon and a few other people will still be the same.

But, like, Lau could go hide in Chinatown or something. Because if Gotham is in New York, there's gotta be a Chinatown.

Heh, I wonder what teen Ras Ahl Gul will be like…

Alfred would be such a cool legal guardian. He lets Bruce skip school to go to Hong Kong to beat up grown men.

I don't like this chapter because, once again, it was WAAAY not teen enough. Just me writing the scene down again, just like the drug-bust. Or something. I don't quite remember the chapter that I thought was not teen enough, but this is the second one.

Mer.

Review, please! Review!


	9. A Man of His Word

Lau was sitting in the interrogation room beside his sleazy lawyer, Evans. The Assistant District Attorney, Mrs. Dawes, walked in and got straight to the point. "Give us the money and we'll deal."

Lau gave her a silky smile. "The _money_ is the only reason I'm still alive."

She cocked her head to one side and leaned forward over the table at him. She asked, "You mean when they hear that you've helped us they're going to kill you?"

Evans shot up from his slouch in his seat. "Are you _threatening_ my client!?"

She moved back a step and shook her head as she replied, "No, I'm just assuming your client's cooperation with this investigation. As will everyone." She turned her back on the two of them and made for the door with fair words of adieu. "Enjoy your stay in County, Mister Lau."

"Wait," Lau called, right before she made her exit. She stopped and looked back at him with a single raised eyebrow. He made his proposal. "I won't give you the money…but I'll give you my clients. All of them."

She shook her head and smiled in a 'when-will-he-learn?' way. "You were a glorified accountant—what could you have on all of them that we could charge?"

"I'm good with calculation—I handled all their investments. One big pot."

In the observation room behind the one-way glass, Dent hit a buzzer and Rachel left the interrogation room. Dent turned to Gordon, who looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"I've got it," Dent said. "RICO. If their money was _pooled_ we can charge all of them as one criminal conspiracy."

"Charge them with what?" the dean of students couldn't help asking.

Rachel entered the room as Dent explained, "In a RICO case if we can charge any of the conspirators with a felony—"

Rachel finished for him, "We can charge all of them with it."

She came back into the interrogation room and asked, "Mister Lau, do you have details of this communal fund? Ledgers, banknotes…?"

Lau smiled indulgently and retorted, "Immunity, protection, and a chartered plane back to Hong Kong."

Rachel gave a wry smile as well. "Once you've testified in open court. So with your clients locked up, what happens to all that money?"

Lau leaned back in his chair and replied, "Like I said—I'm good with calculation."

Behind the glass Gordon shook his head and muttered, "He can't go to County. A skinny little weasel like him? Kids like that get beat up for their lunch money. In County they'll eat him alive."

Dent replied with, "This isn't a fortress, Gordon."

"But you trust them over at County?"

Dent scoffed. "I don't trust them here."

"Lau should stay."

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, "I keep you close because you know how to get to the Batman. He say anything about keeping Lau in the holding cells here?"

"Well, no…not really." _What the hell do they think I am!? Some kind of Bat-Guru!?_

Dent thought for a while, then shook his head again and sighed. He relented. "Fine. Lau stays here."

--

DA Dent stood in front of a small crowd of reporters, nodding and smiling and nonchalantly answering questions. One reporter shoved his microphone into the man's face and said, "The Chinese government claims their international rights have been broken." He waited for a response.

Dent flashed his smile again and replied cleverly, "I don't know about Mister Lau's travel arrangements…"

Maroni Jr. and the teen Chechen were eating lunch at the restaurant owned by the former's father, watching Dent on the television above the bar. Their men and Maroni Sr.'s men were scattered throughout the establishment.

"…_but I'm sure glad he's back." _

The Chechen turned to Maroni Jr. and said through a mouthful of salad, "I put word out. We hire clown. He was right. We have to fix _real problem_. Batman."

Maroni Jr. shook his head exasperatedly and went for another bite of his spaghetti, but out of the corner of his eye he spotted the cop walking over with a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

The cop nodded at the TV and remarked, "Our boy looks good on the tube."

Maroni Jr. shot him a cocky grin and asked, "You sure you want to embarrass me in front of my friends, Lieutenant?"

He grinned right back at him as more cops filed into the restaurant. "Don't worry, they're coming too." A prison bus was waiting outside.

--

Courtroom A of the Gotham Municipal Courthouse was full to bursting with defendants, nearly every known mobster, gangster, drug-dealer, face-cutter, murderer, and money-launderer _and_ their lawyers were crammed into every inch the gallery had to offer.

Judge Surrillo, an older woman with a permanently severe look, was reading off the list of charges, which was several pages long.

"…eight hundred forty-nine count racketeering, two hundred forty-six counts fraud, eighty-seven counts conspiracy murder…" She turned the page and saw a playing card sitting there. A Joker. She glanced at it, curious, then put it off to one side and asked the assembled, "How do the defendants plead?"

An army of defense lawyers and their clients jostled, pushed and shoved, all yelling at once. The stenographer exchanged a glance with Surrillo, shrugging helplessly.

--

The Superintendent, Gordon, and the Principal of Gotham High School looked up as DA Dent entered the office.

"Dent!" the Superintendent barked. "What was that circus!? All of our schools were nearly half empty today!"

Dent shrugged. "Gordon asked me to back some arrests."

Principal Loeb shook his head disbelievingly. "I heard the report. Five hundred and—"

"Forty-nine, sir," Gordon finished for him, giving Dent an approving nod. The DA grinned back.

The Superintendent went on, "Five hundred forty-nine criminals at once!? How did you convince Surrillo to hear this farce? They're just kids, for Christ's sake!"

Dent shrugged and said happily, "What can I say? She shares my enthusiasm for justice. After all, she is a judge. I can guarantee those kids won't be sent to County, but they'll all be having a nice long stay in Gotham's juvenile detention center."

The Superintendent shook his head and replied, "Even if you blow enough smoke to get convictions out of Surrillo, you'll set a new record at appeals for quickest kick in the ass."

"It won't matter. The head guys make bail, sure—Mob Bosses and Gang Leaders—but the mid-level guys, they can't, and they can't afford to be off the streets long enough for trial and appeal. They'll cut deals that include a little bit of jail time, or some time in a detention facility. Most of the gang members aren't even old enough to be tried as adults, but either way your schools are going to stay this empty for a while. Think of all you could do with eighteen months of good schools, clean streets!"

The Superintendent waved Gordon and Loeb out, and after they'd left he turned to the DA and told him, "The public likes you, Dent. That's the only reason this might fly. But that means it's on you. They're all coming after you now. Not just the mob…parents, politicians, journalists—anyone whose wallet's about to get lighter. Are you up to it?"

Dent smiled in reply and stood a little straighter, and the Superintendent nodded. "You better be. They get anything on you…those criminals will be back in school, back on the streets."

He turned to gaze out the window. The Superintendent's office sat atop several business floors, so the view was near-extravagant. You could nearly see into the Mayor's office.

"Followed swiftly by you and me—"

He flinched as, with a bang, a dark shape cracked the glass in front of his nose. Dent rushed to the window and looked out. It was Batman, hanging by the neck by a thick length of cord.

Dead.

His mouth was roughly painted in a demonic clown smile, white make-up messily smeared across the lower part of his face.

But…no. It wasn't Batman. Dent looked closer. The costume wasn't the same, and the kid wearing it was chunky. The cowl looked plastic and it looked like he was wearing hockey pads. The DA sighed in spite of himself. The real thing was safe…but a child had died that day.

Pinned to the fake bat's chest by a knife that'd been thrust through it was a playing card. A Joker. Scrawled in red marker were the bold words, **WILL THE REAL BATMAN PLEASE STAND UP?**

--

Bruce came down the stairs with his fingers knotted up in his tie, an excited look on his face. Alfred was supervising party arrangements as the workers filed through the living room into the ballroom laden with fancy table cloths and champagne glasses.

"How's it going?" Wayne asked his butler.

Alfred turned to him and smiled. "I think your fundraiser will be a great success, sir."

"And why do you think I wanted to invite Harvey Dent to this party?"

"I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham's underbelly: to try to impress Miss Dawes."

Bruce laughed and rolled his eyes. "Very droll," he replied. "But very wrong. Actually it's Dent. You see—"

He cut off as he spotted something on the television: the fake Batman hanging, framed by a graphic reading 'BATMAN DEAD?'. The image cut to Engel in the studio, who looked extremely sobered.

"…Police released video footage found concealed on the body. Sensitive viewers be aware: the following images are disturbing."

The image cut to a chunky kid, probably just a sophomore in high school, wearing a makeshift Batman costume. What could be seen of his face beneath the cowl was bruised and bloody. He was sitting tied to a metal chair in what appeared to be a meat locker.

Bruce recognized him as the fake bat that had confronted him when he'd taken down Scarecrow.

And then a voice from behind the camera prompted, "Tell them your name…"

"Brian…" the kid said weakly, "…Douglas."

"Are you the _real_ Batman?" the voice teased.

"…No."

"No? No!? Then why do you dress up like him!!?" The camera jostled over to the hostage and a purple-gloved hand ripped off Brian's cowl, revealing his make-up, blood smeared face. The one holding the camera made fun of the plastic thing for a moment before turning back to the fake bat.

"He's…a symbol," Brian answered, trying to sound valiant. "…That we don't have to be afraid of scum like you!"

"But you do, Brian," the voice snarled. "You _really_ do!"

Brian whimpered and the purple glove stroked his face as the voice made shushing sounds. The strokes turned into a couple of light slaps as the voice asked, "So…you think the Batman's…_helped_ Gotham?"

The kid nodded uncertainly and the camera backpedaled across the room. Brian averted his eyes from the camera and blinked rapidly as if to clear away tears, but the cameraman wouldn't have it.

"Look at me," the voice said. Brian's jaw visibly clenched and he looked down at his lap. The voice echoed through the locker in a terrible snarl. "_LOOK AT ME!!_"

Brian's head jerked up.

The camera swung from the fake bat to the face of the Joker, smeared in chalk-white make-up with red smears of lipstick on his scars. His dark green eyes glinted with a mad light as he giggled and told his viewers, "See, this is how _crazy_ Batman's made Gotham! You want _order_ in Gotham?" He leaned into the camera lens. "Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in."

The camera started to turn back around, but suddenly it came back to the teen that was Joker and he added, "Oh—and every day he doesn't…people will die. Starting tonight." He grinned terribly and put the camera to his lips as he growled, "I'm a man of my _word_."

The camera unsteadily spun around and around and Brian began to scream. The tape cut to static.

Bruce looked at Alfred, speechless and aghast. People were dying now, not because of mob bosses or gang wars…because of _him_.

--

A/N

Oh my God this is getting way to confusing. Why was Dent at the Superintendent's office!? How did Joker get up on his roof!? Didn't anybody look up and NOTICE!?

I have no idea how the interrogation scene is going to work. Not to MENTION the whole Two-Face thing!!!!!

I mean, should Dent Sr. be Two-Face because Harvey died? But then Rachel would still be alive!

Should Harvey be Two-Face because Rachel died? But then his dad can't just sit around doing nothing!!!

….Maybe…Should Dent Sr. be Two-Face because Harvey died…and then he goes after Mrs. Dawes because she took Harvey to protect Rachel…and then Wuertz took him because he's an ex-cop?

Please help me out. This is totally frying my brain.

REVIEW!! REVIEWS PLEASE!!


	10. Party Crasher

Mr. Dent, Harvey and Rachel stepped off the lift into the ballroom, and the two teenagers went off weaving their way through the crowd as the DA was engulfed by a congratulatory swarm of Gotham's high-society folk. The District Attorney's son, dressed in a tuxedo that matched those of all the other men in the room, twitched as a woman on the arm of a man twice her age laughed loudly at something the small dog in her friend's purse had done. Rachel, in a green dress covered with glistering emerald sequins, noticed his discomfort and laughed quietly. "Now I've seen it all: Harvey Dent, scourge of the underworld, scared stiff by the trust fund brigade!"

"Hey, compared to this, the entire _mob_ doesn't scare me."

She gave his arm a little reassuring pat before sighting one of her friends in the cluster of juveniles across the room and darting off.

"Rachel!" Harvey called after her, brow creasing. _I would so rather be anywhere but here…_

An aged hand softly tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, and then mentally reprimanded himself for being so skittish. It was just the butler, balancing a silver tray covered in delicate glasses of champagne on the fingertips of one hand. He gave Harvey a gentle smile and asked, "A little liquid courage, Mister Dent? You young ones are allowed a glass or two—provided you're responsible enough to call a cab for yourself and your guardian in the event that you both end up completely smashed, sir."

Harvey laughed at the mental image of a ballroom of drunken prudes and accepted a glass. "Thanks. It's Alfred, right?"

"Yes, sir."

He sipped from the glass and said, "Rachel talks about you all the time. You've known her her whole life?"

Alfred replied wittily, "Well, not yet, sir." They shared a brief chuckle.

Harvey looked around, surveying the crowd in their fancy garments, and leaned in to ask rather confidentially, "Any psychotic ex-boyfriends I should be aware of?" He had Wayne in mind as he inquired.

Alfred surprised him by leaning in as well and answering, "Oh, you have _no_ idea." The butler left him to continue serving drinks. He wondered if the old man was kidding or not.

Interrupting his befuddlement came the sound of helicopter blades thumping the air outside. Everyone turned with a simultaneous gasp as the aircraft touched down on the helipad and out of it spilled Bruce Wayne with a clutch of what appeared to be teen supermodels.

They entered through a pair of fancy French doors and Bruce carted his dates over to the group of his young guests that was rapidly moving to greet him. Harvey rolled his eyes and reluctantly made his way over as well.

Wayne was apologizing, "Sorry I'm late—glad you started without me!" He looked around. "Now where's Rachel?"

Harvey smirked as he found Rachel's sparkly emerald dress and saw her cringe slightly back into the crowd. But Bruce spotted her anyway and took a few steps toward her, grabbing a glass of champagne off a table as he passed.

"Rachel Dawes," he said, flourishing his drink, "my oldest friend! When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say…the guy whose dad is in those god-awful campaign commercials!?"

There was scattered laughter and Harvey shifted embarrassedly. Rachel glared at the playboy and crossed her arms.

Bruce didn't seem to be able to take the hint and shut his fat mouth, though. "'I _Believe_ in Dent'? Yeah, nice slogan." He gave Harvey a thumbs-up with a sarcastic smile, and Harvey considered grabbing one of the shish-ka-bobs off a table and spearing Wayne's face on it.

But then Wayne went on with a softer and more sincere tone… "But, it caught Rachel's attention. So I started paying attention to Harvey, and all his old man's been doing as our new DA, and you know what? I believe in Dent."

_How cheesy can you get!?_ But Harvey straightened up from his embarrassed cringe a little.

"On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more…optimistic. So tell your parents to get out their check books and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him…" Wayne raised his glass. "…All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the, heh, _son_ of Gotham's bright future—Harvey Dent."

Harvey smiled and accepted the toast. He began to _slightly_ revise his impression of Bruce Wayne.

--

Ramirez ran up the steps of Gotham High to catch Jim Gordon, who was going down them. He stopped at the sight of the frenzied look on her face and asked, "Ramirez, what's wrong?"

"The—the Joker card," she panted, "pinned to that body at the Superintendent's office? Th-they told me to tell you that Forensics found th-three sets of DNA."

Gordon shook his head, not understanding the significance. "Okay, well, did they find out who the DNA belongs to?"

"Yeah, all three. The DNA belongs to Judge Surrillo, Harvey Dent, and Principal Loeb."

Gordon's eyes widened and he put his college-educated brain to work. What it came up with horrified him. "The Joker's telling us who he's targeting! Call the police; tell them to send somebody to Surrillo's house! Uh…uh, tell Wuertz to find Harvey—he should be with his father at Wayne's fund-raiser. I'll get Loeb."

--

Bruce walked out onto the deck of his penthouse, where the party sounds were muted and he could be alone in the fading light. The darkness relaxed him. Being around so many fake smiles and crackling voices was really stressing.

He looked out over Gotham, the city he'd been born in. The city his parents had died in. The city it was his duty to protect…

He quickly dumped his champagne over the edge—couldn't have even the slightest bit of alcohol clouding his mind—and turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of someone approaching. It was Rachel, and she looked spitting mad.

She leaned on the railing next to him and said angrily, "Harvey may not know you well enough to understand when you're making fun of him, but I do."

He shook his head and insisted quietly, "No, I meant every word." He didn't want her mad at him. She truly was one of his closest friends…

Bruce moved closer to Rachel and gently took her arm, turning her so that they were face-to-face, close enough to feel each other's breath brushing their skin in the cool night air. He gazed into her warm brown eyes and murmured, "The day you once told me about…the day when Gotham no longer needs Batman. It's coming."

Rachel looked into his sincere blue eyes, conflicted. She was with _Harvey_...

The poor girl shook her head slowly. "You can't ask me to wait for that."

Bruce held her closer and told her excitedly, "It's happening _now_—_Dent _is that hero! He locked up half the city's criminals, and he did it without wearing a mask. Gotham needs a hero with a face."

"You sure can throw a party, Wayne, I'll give you that!"

Bruce and Rachel instantly stepped apart as Harvey approached them with a forced-looking smile on his face. "Mind if I borrow Rachel?" he asked with such politeness that it was obvious he would not take no for an answer.

Rachel gave Wayne a smile meant only for an old friend as she followed her date back inside to the party.

--

Two men in uniform knocked at a house in a quiet, twilight-lit neighborhood. The door was opened by Judge Surrillo, and the men held up their badges.

--

Gordon threw open the door of Principal Loeb's office, panting from the run. He was a dean of students, not a gym teacher.

"Gordon," Loeb barked, standing from his desk, "what're you playing at!?"

Gordon checked the window—just in case there were anymore bodies hanging out there—then turned to his boss and explained, "I'm sorry, sir. I believe the Joker's made a threat against your life. The police are on the way."

Loeb sighed heavily and plopped back down into his chair. "Gordon, you were likely to discover this for yourself, so take my word—the principal of Gotham High School earns a lot of threats from the little punks he's not paid enough to baby-sit…" He pulled a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler from a drawer and set them down on the desk top. "I found the…appropriate response to these situations a long time ago."

--

The policemen escorted Surrillo to her car, but she protested as she opened the driver's side door. "They want me to go right now!? This is a little—"

"These are dangerous people, Judge," one cop insisted. "Even _we_ don't know where you're going." He handed her a sealed envelope.

His partner instructed, "Get in, then open the envelope. It'll tell you where you're headed."

Surrillo nodded and climbed in. The cops went to their own vehicle and began to drive away. The Judge opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. There was only one word on it.

**UP.**

Furrowing her brow in confusion, she looked up at the ceiling of her car—and the vehicle exploded, heaving the car upwards in a blinding ball of fire. Car alarms within several yards began to go off, blaring into the sound of oxygen being consumed by the flaming monster. Singed debris began to rain down as the cops made a U-turn and ran toward the wreckage, but it was too late.

The bits of debris were playing cards—hundreds, maybe even thousands of them fluttering down to the pavement. Jokers.

--

Loeb poured himself and glass of whiskey and joked to Gordon, "You get to explain to my wife why I'm late for dinner, Gordon."

Gordon shook his head frantically, frustrated with the principal's calmness. "Sir, the Joker card had a trace of your DNA on it—"

There was a bang at the door and Gordon jumped. Grabbing a stapler to use as a weapon, just in case, he jerked open the door and was greeted by the sight of a unit of GPD officers. He sighed with relief and let them in.

"How'd they get my DNA?" Loeb demanded, taking a gulp of his drink.

An officer replied, "Somebody with access to your house or office must've lifted a sample—from a tissue, or a glass…"

Gordon, who'd been exiting the room, spun around. "Wait! Wait!" he screamed.

But Loeb was already choking—eyes bulging, clutching at his throat, trying and failing to breathe. He dropped his tumbler onto the desk and the spilled whiskey began to smoke, eating through the wood. The principal dropped to the floor, clutching at Gordon as he began to convulse.

"Get a medic!" a cop yelled.

--

Harvey pulled Rachel into the corner away from the crowd, a humorously desperate look on his face. "You _cannot_ leave me on my own with these people!"

She rolled her eyes at him and said, "The whole _mob's_ after you guys and you're worried about these harmless little corporate drones and their trophy wives?"

"Hey," he replied indignantly, "I told you: compared to this, the mob's got _nothing_. Although, I will say: them gunning for you makes you see things clearly."

"Oh, yeah?" she teased.

"Yeah. It makes you think about what you couldn't stand losing. And who you want to spend the rest of your life with…"

Rachel looked at her boyfriend and smiled. "The rest of your life, huh? That's a pretty big commitment."

He shrugged and pointed out, "Not if the mob has their way."

"Don't," she interrupted, stopping him. She knew where this conversation was headed, and she didn't want to think about it so soon after talking with Bruce about nearly the same thing.

"Okay," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Let's be serious. What's your answer?"

Rachel shook her head the same way she had with Bruce. "I don't _have_ an answer, Harvey…"

He looked down, disappointed. "I guess no answer isn't a no."

"I'm sorry, Harvey! I just…"

Harvey looked up again, eyes wide. "It's someone else, isn't it?" His voice wasn't accusing, just intensely sad. "Just tell me it's not Wayne. The guy's a complete psycho—"

Bruce Wayne came up behind the DA's son and put him in a sleeper hold. Rachel watched disbelievingly as the young man went unconscious and slumped into Bruce's arms.

"What are you doing!?" she hissed, looking around to make sure no one had seen. They were all to busy with their drinks and fancy finger food.

"They've come for him," Bruce answered, dragging Harvey down the hall.

The lift doors opened with a small _ding_, and Wuertz stepped out. There was a shotgun pressed to the back of his head, held by none other than the murderous teen—the Joker, purple suit and all. And he'd brought his clown-masked friends as well.

He smashed the teacher over the head with the weapon and then racked his shotgun, stepping into the ballroom as his fiends flooded out into the crowd.

The clown attracted everyone's attention by shooting at the ceiling, resulting in a few screams and startled yells.

Bruce stuffed Harvey into a supply closet and put a mop through the handles to prevent any chances at escape should he come to. He rushed past Rachel and commanded, "Stay hidden."

Running down the hall, he encountered a clown-masked thug who shoved his shotgun into his face. "Hands up, pretty boy!"

Bruce grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and flipped it around in the thug's hands and used it as a fulcrum to snap his forearm. Before he could even scream Bruce smashed him in the jaw with the stock without breaking step, field stripping the shotgun and tossing the pieces in different directions. The clown moaned from his spot crumpled on the floor.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" the Joker called out above the sound of his henchmen barking out orders. "We are tonight's entertainment!"

--

Bruce walked into the penthouse's master bedroom, his own. It was a normal teenage boy's room, everything still messy as he'd left it for appearances—he almost never slept in it. One of the older board members and a young woman were hastily putting their clothes back on, alarmed by the gunfire.

Bruce made a mental note to ask Alfred to burn his sheets as soon as possible.

"What's going on out there, Wayne!?" the board member demanded, buckling his belt.

He didn't answer. Bruce opened his closet door and pulled at a false wall, behind which was a safe room.

"Thank God!" the woman cried, readjusting her bra. "You've got a panic room!"

The door slammed shut and sealed with a hiss.

The woman's face fell in disbelief. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

--

The Joker shoved his rifle into the arms of one of his clowns and moved through the terrified guests, picking bits and pieces off the serving table. "I only have one question!" he said through a mouthful of shrimp. "Where is Harvey Dent? You know, I'll settle for his loved ones. Mister Dent, DA—care to step up?"

Dent immediately stepped into the ring guests had formed around the psychopath. His lip curled in disgust and he stood to his full, impressive height as he stated, "We're not intimidated by thugs. You guys are just small fry compared to some of the men I've put behind bars."

The Joker stopped with a glass of champagne halfway to his lips. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man who'd spoken, and sloshed the drink into his mouth, spilling more than he drank. Strutting up to Dent, he gazed up at him for a while before smiling affectionately.

"You know," he said quietly, "you remind me of my _own_ father…" Suddenly he grabbed Dent's head and forced an open switchblade to his lips before he could move. "I _hated_ my father!"

"Okay, stop!" Rachel's voice rang out. The crowd parted around her at once, forming another ring. The Joker turned on his heel, dropping Dent. He began to skip toward her, playfully tossing his switchblade from hand to hand. The guests held Dent back, despite his protests, as the boy licked his red-smeared lips and swiped his greasy green hair out of his face.

"Well _hello_ beautiful!" he purred, grinning. "You must be Harvey's _squeeze_. And you _are_ beautiful…"

She kept her arms crossed, not giving ground as he got up close to her and circled, letting his stinking breath trace across the back of her neck, making her flinch. After a couple of rounds he stopped in front of her again and seized her jaw, maneuvering his switchblade with a thumb. He quietly teased her as she struggled in vain to keep the knife's blade away from her mouth, but eventually he managed to keep her head still.

"You look nervous," he remarked, brow furrowing in fake concern. "Is it the scars? Wanna know how I got 'em?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"I…had a girlfriend. A _beautiful_ girlfriend—_like you_—who tells me I worry too much. Who says I need to _smile_ more! Whose mommy _gambles _and gets in deep with the sharks. One day they carve my girl's face to teach her mommy a lesson. Even if I chipped in there wasn't enough money for surgeries. _She can't take it!_"

The thumb keeping the knife blade steady stroked Rachel's face, making her wince.

"I just want to see her smile again! I just want her to know I don't _care_ about the scars! So…I put a razor in my mouth and do this…to myself. And you know what?"

He began to laugh, and she nearly choked on his breath.

"She can't _stand_ the sight of me!!"

Or was he crying…?

"She _leaves_…but now I see the funny side! Now I'm always smiling!" He leaned back to display his disfigurement, and Rachel took the opportunity to slug him as hard as she could. The Joker stumbled back, slightly winded, but then he straightened up and nodded approvingly, licking his lips. "A little fight in you…" he laughed. "…I like that."

"Then you're gonna love me."

Joker turned and Batman caught him with a blow, spun him around and knocked the knife out of his hand. The thugs that'd been busy with crowd control jumped him, and he proceeded to brutally take them down two at a time, breaking arms, cracking ribs, and punching faces. While he was preoccupied Joker stomped his foot and a blade shot out of the toe of his shoe. He bounded into the edge of the fray and kicked wildly, jabbing between the plates of armor covering Batman's side, stabbing his own men.

Batman hurled Joker away and made to follow up with a good beat-down, but he grabbed one of his clowns and threw him at the Dark Knight, who had to pause to lay him out cold.

Joker zipped across the room and grabbed Rachel, pressing the pistol he'd taken from the clown to her temple. Batman stood up and moved slowly toward him—but for every step he took, the Joker took two towards a window looking over empty Gotham air.

"Drop the gun," he growled.

"Well, sure!" Joker replied amiably, waving his gun as if considering it. "Just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are!"

Rachel shook her head frantically and the Joker raised his pistol, twisting his arm awkwardly to shoot out the window behind him. He dangled Rachel dangerously close to a deadly drop.

Batman stood still. "Let her go."

The Joker giggled and gave a twisted little smirk, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Very poor choice of words!" His laughter turned to full-out cackling as he gave Rachel a shove and she dropped onto the sloping glass roof, screaming as she slid toward the edge. Batman dove after her.

He caught her outstretched hand just as they left the roof's support and went sailing out into the night air. People below gawked and pointed as the Batman extended one wing of his cape, enveloping Rachel. He spun around so that she was clinging to his chest—right before they made slammed into the hood of a taxi whose driver was taking a coffee break.

The hood gave way and the windshield shattered as the Kevlar plates absorbed most of the impact. Batman moved his arm and the limp cape slithered off of Rachel who, other than looking pale and windswept, was fine.

"Are you alright?" he asked, just in case.

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, but then she took a deep breath and barely managed a dry smile. "Let's not do that again, okay? Is Harvey—?"

"He's safe."

She allowed her head to collapse onto his armored chest, and her tense body went limp. "Thank you," she sighed.

--

The Joker looked back as his car sped away. He was breathing hard, exhilarated, eyes filled with manic excitement. He touched a trickle of blood running down his smeared white make-up and chuckled to himself before discreetly wiping it on the pant leg of the clown sitting beside him in the backseat—his only henchman that'd managed to drag himself into the car after meeting the Batman. Joker smacked the back of the driver's seat, and the kid driving asked, "So, Mister J, what do we do about little Dent?"

The Joker smiled languidly and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. Propping his feet up on the center consol he replied, "I'm a man of my word."

--

A/N

For your information, I didn't add that scene at the end with the Joker, although I did add the Mister J because I think Harley should be in a movie for once!!!

So yeah…that's how it went down, foo. I just watched Batman Begins today, and it was just as awesome as I remembered, though I realized Cillian Murphy looks way better without his glasses than with.

A very special person whose username I'm too lazy to look up right now gave me an amazing idea for teen BB's Ra's Ahl Gul, so be sure to be on the lookout for that. It's gonna be big.

After BB I watched Catwoman, and I just realized that it's not the same Catwoman as with Batman. Batman's Catwoman is Selina Kyle. The one in the movie's name is Patience something or other….

That irritates me.

Review, as always! REVIEW!!!


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